


Going up in Flames

by over_reacting_by_default



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban, Severitus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/over_reacting_by_default/pseuds/over_reacting_by_default
Summary: After Harry gets back from Diagon Alley with Hagrid the Dursleys lock him back in his cupboard and burn his school trunk and everything in it. Harry escapes and gets the bus to Kings Cross station and goes to Hogwarts in his muggle clothes where he meets Professor Snape.
Comments: 49
Kudos: 305





	1. Prologue

Harry ducked as Uncle Vernon threw the empty owl cage into the cupboard after him. But it still hit the side of head since the small space didn’t really allow for avoiding large incoming missiles. He cowered even further against the back wall as Uncle Vernon gave one final bellow and slammed the door before thundering away to the kitchen.

  
Finally alone he began to breath more easily again. Harry knew he wouldn’t be disturbed until tomorrow morning as long as he stayed quiet. Then he grabbed the thin pillow from the even thinner mattress and buried his face in it to muffle his scream. It wasn’t fair! Today had been his best birthday ever. No actually it had just been his best day ever. And now everything had been ripped away from him. It was even worse than not being allowed to read his letters.

  
Just then a shower of dust fell onto him. Dudley was plodding down the stairs on his way to dinner. Harry was glad that at least Hagrid had taken him out for dinner before he got the train back to Surrey. He’d even managed to save the apple for later. Slowly he put the pillow down and reached for the cord that lit the single bare lightbulb. A weak light flickered into existence just above his head, showing a couple spiders had fell with the dust. Harry carefully returned them to their webs and sighed heavily.

  
A loud banging made him flinch again as the door rattled on its hinges, “SILENCE, BOY!”

  
The footsteps retreated again and he gradually relaxed until he noticed there was something hot and wet on the side of his face. Harry touched his temple and winced as it suddenly stabbed with pain. His hand came away red and he realised the cage had hit him harder than he thought. It was just lucky he’d let his owl out the window for a fly before going to have a shower.

  
Harry hoped she’d find a nice forest somewhere and have a fun life in the wild with all her owl friends. Or maybe she’d find another little boy who needed a pet. He huffed again at how unfair it all was and scrabbled around to find an old cleaning rag to mop up some of the blood from his face.

  
If he’d never found out about magic and Hogwarts and his parents then Harry wouldn’t care so much that he was back in his cupboard. He wouldn’t know and then he couldn’t miss it like he did now. It almost felt like Diagon Alley had been a dream and maybe he could have convinced himself it had been if not for the evidence in his pockets. The few new belongings were all that had survived the blaze, all he had to cling to the new world he’d found.

  
After he’d got home, Harry had left his trunk – locked with all his new school supplies – in Dudley’s second bedroom and went to have a shower. The Dursley’s had watched him arrive warily but nothing else. Then when he’d gotten dressed again, Uncle Vernon was waiting menacingly outside the bathroom door, looking very smug. He’d dragged Harry by his ear outside to watch his trunk be consumed by an inferno. A couple metres away on the lawn sat the container of petrol that was usually used for the lawnmower. They watched until the fire burnt down to a few embers and Uncle Vernon had chucked him in the cupboard where he could finally cry.

  
The only things that he’d had in the pockets of his hoodie and jeans instead of his trunk were a bag of owl treats, the very few galleons, sickles and knuts left over from the shopping trip as well as his Gringotts vault key, his train ticket for Platform 9 ¾, and his wand.


	2. Buses and Trains

Number 4 Privet Drive was completely silent. Harry strained his ears but was quite sure he could hear nothing. Good. That was the plan. It was 5am on the first of September and it was time to go to Hogwarts.

He’d discovered a couple weeks ago when he was really desperate for a midnight dinner that if he tapped his wand against the door of his cupboard, where the lock was on the other side, and wished really really hard then it would unlock itself. Harry opened the door carefully so it wouldn’t squeak and crept down the hall to the front door. He stopped at the coat rack and took a twenty from Aunt Petunia’s purse because he didn’t think he’d managed to scrounge enough change from under the sofa cushions for the bus fare to London.

The front door key turned smoothly in the lock and Harry limped down the driveway as his right ankle started throbbing again before running or at least limping a lot faster down the road. The owl cage banged awkwardly against his other leg the whole way but he didn’t stop running even after he turned the corner until he finally reached the end of Magnolia Crescent. Clutching his ribs, Harry hefted his backpack more securely on his shoulder and continued, though at a more reasonable speed. Apparently running had been a bad idea.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet but he could easily see a bird swooping towards him and smiled. Harry’s owl hadn’t properly left in the whole month since his birthday. He’d noticed her perched in various trees along Privet Drive and now she alighted on his shoulder, giving a soft hoot.

Eventually they reached the bus stop and he had to coax her back into the cage. Harry was quite sure he’d be getting enough weird looks without her also being free to fly around. Then he pulled up the hood of his jumper to hide his face a bit. His black eye and split lip were also sure to make the bus driver think him a delinquent like Uncle Vernon always said he was. This was his biggest hoodie though so he thought it would be alright. It was so big the sleeves almost reached his knees when they weren’t rolled up.

His hair would also help keep his face shadowed. A couple days ago, to annoy Aunt Petunia he’d willed it to grow even longer and more untameable than normal so it was practically in his eyes. This had the added benefit of completely hiding his scar. If he succeeded in getting to Hogwarts then he didn’t want anyone staring at him like everyone in the Leaky Cauldron had. The downside was that he hadn’t been able to duck the frying pan that came his way when the forced haircut failed once more.

The bus finally arrived and Harry tried to make himself as small as possible as he bought his ticket from the driver. He kept his eyes on the floor apart from one glance to the driver’s face. He was frowning at Harry probably thinking that he was a trouble-making freak. Harry hurried half-hopping to the very back of the bus. He put his backpack on his lap and hugged it to himself while keeping his other hand tightly clutching a couple bars of the owl cage which was on the next seat.

Leaning against the grimy window, he tried to get his shoulders to be less tense but it didn’t work very well when his whole body felt quite sore and achy still. Harry could safely say it had been the worst month ever. He wasn’t getting off until the very last stop, only a few streets away from Kings Cross Station so the journey would be a few hours but Harry didn’t dare let himself fall asleep.

…

Harry furiously blinked back his tears as he watched a flock of pigeons peck at the ground of the platform. He’d sat down – more accurately he’d practically crumpled to the floor – near one of the barriers between platforms 9 and 10. It was only nine o’clock so he knew that he technically had lots of time but Harry had already searched all over Kings Cross Station and couldn’t find a Platform 9 ¾ anywhere! And his plan had been going so well up to this point too.

All of the guards were really scary looking (one of them had aimed a kick at the pigeons) and adults never liked being asked for help so he couldn’t ask them either. They were muggles though so probably didn’t know anyway. Would it really have been so hard for Hagrid to tell him where the platform was? Harry sighed again and leant dejectedly against the barrier hoping no one would see him and tell him to stop skulking around or something.

Suddenly he sprawled backwards as if the wall had dissolved. He scrambled up and saw the wall was now in front of him! And turning around he saw a bright red steam train with writing that said the Hogwarts Express. He’d done it! The platform was very empty. It was just him and a couple of adults in wizard robes who didn’t seem at all surprised that a boy had just fallen through a wall.

Harry looked behind him again and saw a sign reading _Muggle London_. He shrugged to himself and since it seemed far too early to get on the train, wandered down the platform a bit. Oddly, there were lots of large fireplaces set into the wall and one area was roped off with a placard that read _Apparition Point: upon arrival please get out of the way quickly_.

Overall, the platform was a lot cleaner than the muggle one and Harry couldn’t stop grinning because even the air felt like it was magic, like in Diagon Alley. Then a delicious smell wafted towards him and he hurried towards a food stand, wondering how he’d missed it before. The witch running it seemed less intimidating than the other adults he’d seen at the station.

Harry dug in his pocket for his wizard money, “A hot chocolate and a pumpkin pasty, please?”

She smiled and took the coins, “You’re here a bit early, aren’t you?”

“Wanted to have time to find the platform,” he mumbled and shrugged.

“Muggleborn then?” she passed him the food but then faltered. Harry realised the shrug had dislodged his hood a bit and she could see his face better now. He tugged it forward embarrassed and muttered, “Thank you.”

Then he hurried off to a bench before there were any questions or accusations. He sat down a bit more gingerly than he had on the floor before and practically inhaled the pasty but then let the hot chocolate cool a bit as it warmed his hands. Harry hadn’t realised just how hungry he was until now but he didn’t want to burn his tongue. And it was the second time ever he’d got to choose what to eat which made the food even better.

Before he realised it, it was after ten o’clock and other people began to trickle and then pour onto the platform. Among the first people to arrive was a girl about his age with her parents. She was already wearing her Hogwarts robes and her hair was brown and kind of bushy. Harry startled when she started to walk towards him but luckily her parents had stopped at the food stand.

He stood up quickly when she got near but tried to keep his face angled kind of downwards. She stuck her hand out and smiled, “Hi. I’m Hermione Granger. Are you a first year too?”

“Hi. Yes, I’m Harry,” he shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you. Have you only just found out about magic too? I don’t know anyone else here yet. Would you like to sit together on the train? Where’s your trunk, is it already on the train?”

He flushed red and nodded, hoping she wouldn’t realise the lie. She talked very fast. He didn’t know why she would want to sit with him either. No one was ever nice to him because then Dudley would hit them too.

“Is your face ok?” she asked.

Harry face felt even hotter but at least he already had a lie worked out for this, he mumbled “Just wrestling with my cousin. It got a bit out of hand.”

“Ok. Well I’m just going to say goodbye to my mum and dad. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back and then we can go find a compartment.”

Harry sat down again and stared after her numbly. She was a bit nosy and bossy but otherwise ok. She’d probably get annoyed with him soon though and go find some non-freaky kids to make friends with. Sadly, he turned back to his owl. She really needs a name, he thought but as long as I give her treats she’ll like me. The platform was getting very busy now. There was lots of excited yelling between friends and thuds as trunks were dropped. Somehow Hermione found her way back.

“Hi Harry. Are you ready? This is Neville by the way.”

Neville said “Hi,” very quietly. He looked nice if a bit scared. Harry said “Hi” back. Then they followed Hermione onto the train. Neville was struggling to hold onto a toad that was squirming determinedly in his hands. Just as they found an empty compartment it escaped.

Neville cried out, “Trevor! NO!”

Luckily it ran back toward Harry. He dropped the cage – to a very indignant squawk – and scooped up the toad. He handed it back to Neville and they hurriedly got out of the way of the older students trying to get past.

“Thanks Harry.”

“ ‘S ok.”

…

The Hogwarts Express had been chugging along for five minutes or so when the compartment door opened. The seats were much squishier and comfier than on the bus and Harry had been watching the grimy, crowded city slowly melt away to green fields and trees. He and Neville hadn’t said much but Hermione didn’t seem to mind and kept the conversation going pretty much singlehandedly anyway.

In the doorway stood a tall, red-haired boy with freckles, “Hi. Can I sit with you guys? Everywhere else is full.”

They all nodded.

“I’m Ron by the way.”

“I’m Hermione and this is Harry and Neville.”

Harry still had his hood up and although he’d put his owl up on the luggage rack, he refused to stop holding tightly onto his backpack on the seat next to him. Ron looked at him curiously but thankfully didn’t say anything. He’d probably only want to be friends with Hermione and Neville anyway.

Once Hermione found out that Ron came from a wizarding family, she started bombarding him with loads of questions. Ron’s ears went a bit pink at the attention and after a while he started looking a bit irritated with the interrogation so Neville answered some questions too since apparently his family was also all magical. Harry was just relieved he could get away with saying nothing and listening.

A couple hours into the journey an adult witch poked her head into the apartment, “Anything from the trolley dears?”

Harry was still very hungry and because he’d never seen any of these sweets before, he bought one of everything. Neville and Hermione didn’t buy quite so much but altogether they had more than enough to share with Ron who looked quite embarrassed about his sandwiches. Having something to share, it turned out, made Harry feel quite proud. He’d never had anything anyone else wanted before. And if he was very careful and nice and normal, he thought rather optimistically that they even might all be friends one day.

Soon they were all feeling quite sick from the multitude of sweets, well, apart from Ron’s rat Scabbers who was still munching on a Liquorice Wand, so they cleared away some of the wrappers and Neville produced a pack of Exploding Snap cards. Harry carefully tucked his new Chocolate Frog cards into his backpack so he wouldn’t lose them.

Exploding Snap was very fun and exciting. Probably a lot more so than regular snap although Harry couldn’t say for certain. Each of them had screamed at least once at a particularly loud explosion and he was glad that the others had mostly stopped sneaking glances at his face although he still kept his hood up. He had to be careful to keep his left hand facing down all the time too but he’d gotten used to that ages ago and mostly used only his right hand when possible.

They were just starting a third round when the apartment door opened again. Harry recognised the pale, pointy boy from Madam Malkins. He still looked rather haughty but also quite frantic, “Hello. Can I sit here? It’s just that Crabbe and Goyle are being very boring today and Pansy keeps touching my hair and messing it up and…” he trailed off, “anyway I’m sorry for interrupting your game. I’m Draco…”

“You’re a Malfoy, aren’t you?” Ron interrupted loudly, “go away.”

Draco looked Ron up and down very slowly, “Black actually. And you must be a Weasley.”

Draco sat down and raised an eyebrow, challenging Ron to do something about it. Ron glared and pointed his wand at Draco, he shot a few sparks at him. Draco reacted surprisingly quickly though and shot sparks back.

“Stop it!” Hermione stood up and her voice went a bit shrilly, “You’re going to get us all in trouble.”

Her glare was actually a lot fiercer than either of the other boys but Draco didn’t seem to notice, “It’s not like any of us actually know any proper magic yet. We’re hardly going to hurt each other.”

Hermione clearly disagreed, “What do you mean? I’ve read through all of our textbooks and actually some of the Defence spells seem quite painful. And I’ve already tried some other easy useful charms. I could repair Harry’s glasses if you want to see.”

Harry shook his head urgently, “No thanks,” they hadn’t had any lessons yet so he wasn’t sure he trusted her to point a wand at his face, just in case something went wrong. Or it could make the glasses even more broken and they already looked ridiculous with Sellotape around both hinges and the bridge of his nose.

Draco rolled his eyes at him, “What happened to your face anyway?”

Harry gave him the same story he told Hermione. Then Draco suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! We met in Diagon Alley, didn’t we?”

He nodded, “So how do you know Ron? And why do you seem to hate each other?”

Ron replied angrily – they still hadn’t lowered their wands, “Everyone knows that the Malfoys believe in all that blood purity bullshit.”

“It’s _Black_. And your father is the reason mine is in Azkaban… wizard prison,” Draco added since Harry and Hermione looked confused.

Privately Harry thought Draco had a much better reason for being cross although he didn’t really get what Ron was on about.

…

By the time the train was almost to Hogwarts Ron and Draco had agreed to at least ignore each other since Hermione had terrified them both into explaining their problems. Harry and Neville stayed close to the window and kept playing cards in an effort not to have the others’ attention. It also meant he could stay as still as possible.

Apparently, lots of ‘pureblood’ families thought they were superior than wizards and witches who had muggle parents. Draco’s dad had been one of them and had even been one of Voldemort’s followers! He’d gotten out of going to Azkaban after the war saying he’d been forced into it but then was arrested when Draco was five for owning lots of rare objects with really dangerous magic. And Ron’s dad worked at the Ministry of Magic and was part of the team who searched their house. The Weasleys were apparently ‘blood-traitors’. Then afterwards Draco and his mum changed their surname back to his mum’s maiden name and she divorced his dad. They didn’t agree with him about the blood thing.

Harry was feeling rather exhausted by all of the politics but soon the others were all putting on their school robes. Draco’s looked a lot more expensive than Neville’s and Hermione’s which were the same as what he had had. Ron’s were obviously second-hand but were still in much better condition than anything Harry had ever got from Dudley.

Hermione frowned and said anxiously, “You have to put on your uniform Harry or you’ll get in trouble.”

“Whatever,” he looked back out the window as the train finally stopped. He didn’t want to tell them that he didn’t have any robes. Draco had barely managed to keep himself from sneering at Ron’s robes, Harry didn’t think he’d be so lucky. And the aching and soreness that he’d been distracted from earlier was starting to become more noticeable again.

They all crowded off the train and followed Hagrid to a fleet of boats. Everyone else had left their trunks and pets behind but Harry refused to let go of his backpack or owl. They could fit in the boat, however disapproving Hermione might look.

Hogwarts castle really did look magical. Harry had no way to describe it apart from it was huge. Professor McGonagall led them through the Entrance Hall into a smaller room where she left them to wait for the Sorting. Harry tried to hide behind Ron so she wouldn’t see him in muggle clothes but he had seen Hagrid whisper something to her earlier while looking vaguely in his direction so he had a bad feeling he was too late. He hoped he wouldn’t be in too much trouble.

After a lecture from some ghosts about bringing honour to their houses, Professor McGonagall returned. There was a scary looking teacher dressed all in black with her. He looked extremely cross about something.

Everyone fell silent as they waited for them to speak. Professor McGonagall looked very serious, “First years, please follow me to the Great Hall for the Sorting. Mr Potter, I need you to go with Professor Snape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please review!


	3. The Potter Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger Warning for descriptions of injuries from implied/ referenced child abuse. I can't decide if I overdid it or not with the description but just in case, proceed slowly with a couple paragraphs after Madam Pomfrey meets Harry.

Severus glared down at the Great Hall. September always seemed to arrive before it should and the return to Hogwarts was a shock to the system after a summer of peaceful solitude. From the High Table it was possible to see any mischief-making in progress and he really didn’t want to deal with the Weasley twins this early in the term. Dumbledore might turn a blind eye but since the robes he was wearing were giving Severus a headache he felt justified in being suspicious. For now though, the twins weren’t causing anymore chaos than usual.

Minerva entered through the side door just then and made her way to him urgently, “Severus I need your help with one of the first years.”

  
“Very well,” he grumbled and stood up. At least it would get him away from Dumbledore’s robes, “what’s the matter?”

  
They walked out of the hall and he noticed she was looking unusually anxious “It’s Harry Potter.”

  
“What has the brat started causing trouble already? Sooner than his father even?” he sneered. He’d been dreading this year for this very reason. No doubt the boy had been spoilt even more than Potter senior had and would be equally more obnoxious and arrogant. The fame had obviously gone to his head if he was already pulling stunts.

  
“No, not at all,” she shook her head emphatically, “I don’t know exactly what the problem is… besides the obvious you’ll see in a moment but… I have a bad feeling about this Severus. Do try and put your ridiculous pre-conceived notions aside for a moment and remember he’s not his father.”

  
Severus huffed. She didn’t know what he would be like. Besides she let Potter and Black get away with practically ruling the castle in their day. He would know as the main subject of their reign of terror. There was no way he would allow the son to get away with such bullying or sloppy homework. The Boy-Who-Lived would need to learn that the world did not revolve around him.

  
Minerva looked at him sternly, “I know you like to terrify first-years but I also know you are capable of not doing that…”

  
He rolled his eyes.

  
“Do you remember what Hagrid said at the staff meeting after all the first-year letters had gone out?”

  
Severus did remember. He’d dismissed it at the time as nonsense but clearly Minerva thought it important. Hagrid had been the one to take the Potter boy to Diagon Alley. He’d said the boy was very polite but had known nothing at all about the wizarding world or even his parents! Severus remembered Petunia as hating magic of course but surely she was thrilled to raise her famous nephew. The boy must have started spinning a sob-story about being an orphan to seek even more attention.

  
He raised an eyebrow, “I do. However, I do not understand what it is you want me to do.”

  
“Well I obviously need to do the Sorting and Poppy is already tied up with a broken leg – don’t ask – besides which I doubt the boy will want to see a Healer. But you’re the only other one with medi-wizard training so I need you to take Harry to the Hospital Wing.”

  
“Now? Before the Sorting? The Hospital Wing? Are you sure no-one else…?”

  
“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want to cause a huge commotion in the Great Hall. And you will take him to the Hospital Wing because your office will certainly terrify the child,” Minerva exasperatedly interrupted as he scowled and pushed open a door before addressing the first-years.

  
A small group of children around Potter gasped and stared accusingly at him following the announcement. Severus recognised Draco Black as the one who loudly demanded, “Why didn’t you tell us you’re Harry Potter?”

  
Potter stared at the ground and reluctantly dragged his feet forwards. Severus understood now about not causing a commotion in the Great Hall. The boy was still wearing muggle clothing for Merlin’s sake! And he was clutching an old backpack and an owl cage. This is exactly the attention-seeking stunt James used to pull but why wasn’t he already boasting of his fame to the other snot-nosed brats?

  
Severus cast a long-suffering look towards Minerva and turned on his heel so his robes would billow behind him as he strode out of the room towards the Grand Staircase. He could hear Potter hurrying to keep up and spitefully quickened his pace just a bit. As they reached the second floor, he heard the boy ask pleadingly, “Please don’t expel me, sir. I’m really sorry but just please don’t expel me.”

  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.

  
They entered the hospital wing and as he directed Potter to a bed at the far end near the windows, noticed he was limping quite severely. Too severely to be put on. Severus sat on the edge of the next bed, facing Potter. He studied him silently.

  
Now that he was really looking, he could see that the boy’s clothes while over-large in the extreme were more properly defined as rags. The knees and elbows were torn and filthy and his trainers had duct tape wrapped around each toe, presumably to keep the soles from flapping. That was odd, he’d expected fine garments at least as expensive and hand-tailored as his father had worn. The child was very small, even by first year standards and had yet to release either of his possessions from a death-grip.

  
“Please don’t expel me,” he repeated quietly, still looking down, “I’ll do whatever other punishment you want. Scrub the floors, anything really. I promise I’m a hard worker. I know I’m a burden but please don’t expel me.”

  
Severus’ headache was back. What was the boy on about? Surely, he didn’t expect him to fall for this act. The clothes must be a costume or something. Still, he would play along for now. Rest assured soon he would uncover the truth and be able to send Gryffindor – for where else would the boy go? – into negative points within an hour of term starting, as he’d always dreamed. The boy would return to his friends in disgrace without a grand tale of adventure and duping the teachers.

  
So he sighed and tried to sound calm, “You’re not being expelled Mr. Potter, nor will you be punished,” – (he hoped that was a lie) – “Professor McGonagall and I just want to know why you have turned up to school in muggle clothes and why you didn’t leave these possessions with your trunk at the station. Now would you please pull your hood back and look at me.”

  
When Potter made no move to remove his hood, he lifted his hand to tug it back himself. The boy flinched away from his hand violently, then winced with almost equal force before finally taking his hood down. He sat hunched in on himself as if trying to make himself smaller but lifted his face and met Severus’ eyes defiantly.

  
Severus immediately regretted asking. His eyes were Lily’s exactly, the fire in them and all. He thought he’d never see them again and… but then he registered the rest of Potter’s face. He might have been his father although his hair was considerably longer and improbably wilder and his glasses rather more battered. More important and concerning though was the black eye and split lip. Much of the left side of his face was a fading yellowish bruise too. And on the right temple was a small jagged scar that was still more purple than silver.

  
The boy looked barely older than nine, forget eleven years old. And beneath the expansive swelling Severus suspected that his face was quite thin. Could he possibly be wrong in his assumptions? Those injuries were no result of a child’s clumsy accident. He must have been struck with some considerable force to leave such marks; he would know. Yet it was inconceivable that the Boy-Who-Lived could have had a similar childhood to himself. Potter didn’t look like he was going to say anything first though and he was even shaking now too.

  
Severus took a deep breath, “Please answer my questions Mr. Potter.”

  
“I don’t have any robes or a trunk,” the boy whispered, he leaned away as if expecting to be struck. The fire had faded from his eyes. They seemed hollow now.

  
He sighed impatiently, “Now I happen to know for a fact that Hagrid escorted you to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies, meaning something happened in the last month. And yet you haven’t let go of your bag or owl which suggests you are not careless with your possessions. So, what happened?”

  
He stared at the ground again and Severus barely heard the reluctant answer, “My uncle burned them. He doesn’t like magic.”

  
Severus remembered when he’d met Vernon, the summer before his fifth year, he knew Potter was telling the truth about that at least. Clearly, he and Petunia hadn’t changed a bit, despite his earlier convictions about them spoiling the boy. His awful suspicions that the Boy-Hero had in fact been abused were strengthening. But since this line of questioning clearly wasn’t going to go anywhere anytime soon, he thought it might be best to heal him first. Why Minerva thought he would be able to put the boy ‘at ease’ or any other similarly unlikely and frivolous notion was beyond him.

  
“Potter, I’d like to heal your injuries. You may feel more comfortable then,” he drew his wand.

  
Again, he cowered away, throwing his arm up to shield his face. Really, no child should have such fast reflexes. His voice was louder than before, though still trembling, “No thank you, sir.”

  
Did the boy really believe he would hurt him? Severus was running out of ideas about what to do. He wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t be healed. He was seeming less and less like his father – a realisation that Severus did not know what to do with – and he had obviously inherited Lily’s stubbornness. They couldn’t just sit here in silence until Minerva arrived, “You don’t want to be healed?”

  
“Well apparently the last time a wand was pointed at my face, I got this!” Potter finally looked up again, glaring. He pushed back his ridiculous fringe to bare the livid lightning bolt.

  
Severus couldn’t help but admit that was a very good reason. And if he had truly not known he was a wizard until last month then he had no reason to trust magic either. Especially since he now suspected the boy was punished for any accidental incidents that all children were prone to.

  
“Perhaps then you would allow me to perform a diagnostic charm. It would only require me to tap your hand with my wand and then a piece of parchment while saying the incantation. It won’t hurt,” ugh, he was actually being almost nice to the child!

  
Potter shook his head but didn’t look away. It was actually hard to meet his eyes, they were so identical to Lily’s. Though it was pain and fear reflected in them rather than her usual sparkling joy. Severus shuddered to think that the boy was not unlike the reflection in his own mirror at that age. He loathed to think that he could ever feel empathy for a Potter but it seemed the child was not his father’s carbon-copy as expected.

  
He dragged himself from his thoughts with effort and focused once more perhaps bargaining would work, “The sooner you allow me to perform the charm the sooner we can eat dinner.”

  
Severus tried not to dwell on the implications that the boy’s face lit up disproportionately at the mere thought of food, “Fine.”

  
He restrained himself from rolling his eyes as the child tensed further at the contact of the wand as he said the spell. Even his breathing had quickened audibly. Soon though he himself was struggling to remain impassive – even with his occlumency shields up – as the words on the parchment kept appearing. It started with current injuries, before going further back through August and July.

  
As it hit June and showed no sign of slowing, he muttered, “Finite.” He’d never seen such a long list of injuries for such a short time period and he’d helped several Slytherin students over the last decade who’d also been abused. He looked up and saw Potter staring at the parchment in dismay. The boy hadn’t yet noticed the glowing red lights around himself that also indicated current injuries. His face was obviously glowing as well as the back of his head and his right ankle. Lit up the brightest though was his torso. Severus waved his wand again and the lights disappeared. He must maintain his usual clinical detachment – not completely welcoming but also not so unapproachable as most students thought him to be. He was only the child’s teacher, showing emotion beyond his necessary responsibilities of care was unnecessary.

  
“Coco?” he called.

  
A house-elf popped up, “How can Coco be helping Professor Snape?”

  
He ignored Potter’s amazed stare and requested, “Please bring us each a portion of tonight’s Welcoming Feast.”

  
Coco disappeared. The boy opened his mouth as if to ask a question then hastily snapped it shut again. Severus turned towards Poppy’s extensive supply cupboard and pointed his wand, “Accio, Bruise Balm.”

  
A jar shot towards him and he caught it neatly to offer to the boy, “Here, apply this to any bruises you have. It’ll start healing them faster.”

  
Potter hesitated, eyes searching over his face. Evidently, he found nothing to suggest this was a joke or a test since he finally released his possessions and shakily took the jar, “Thank you, sir.”

  
The child dipped his fingers into the salve and carefully rubbed it onto his face. Severus assumed he would stop there but instead Potter scooped up some more and held his jumper and t-shirt away from his body to apply more there. He assumed it was just his ribs that were bruised but then watched with inward horror as the child repeated the action several times, covering what must have been most of his stomach as well and even reaching around to his back.

  
Then he reached down, pulled off his right shoe and sock and tugged up the jeans. He shuffled back and put his foot on the bed. The ankle was entirely black and blue and extremely swollen. Severus couldn’t imagine how he could possibly have walked on it. James Potter would have complained for a week or more, ordering his friends to do everything for him, feeding him and his ego.

  
Unable to stand it further, he slowly stood as to not alarm the child and walked to the healing supplies. He soaked one cloth in Essence of Dittany and wrapped some ice in another before taking them back and holding them out, “The ice is for your ankle and the dittany will help heal the cut on your lip.”

  
Potter thanked him quietly again, still wary as if expecting another interrogation. The food arrived just then on a table between their respective beds. Severus was very hungry himself and had taken several bites before he saw the boy hadn’t even picked up a fork yet, eyes wide that it had just appeared ostensibly from nowhere, “That plate is for you Mr. Potter. You may eat whatever you like.”

  
When they were finished – the child may have started the meal by inhaling huge mouthfuls, but in the end couldn’t finish even half his portion – Severus summoned the house-elf again to clear away their plates. As she did Potter mumbled, “Thank you Coco.”

  
Coco beamed, “Coco is being happy young master is liking the food. I is helping young master anytime he is wanting.”

  
Severus stared in shock before quickly schooling his face once more. The child just thanked a house-elf! Not that he shouldn’t of course but he was quite certain James Potter would never had thought to appreciate the elves’ work, much less to thank them for it. But that was irrelevant in light of the rather more pressing issues at hand.”

  
“Now Mr. Potter, do you think you might be able to tell me about your injuries?”

  
He was looking stubborn again though much more relaxed after a decent – by anyone else’s standards worryingly small – meal. As he’d applied the potions earlier, Severus had watched the tension melt from the boy’s frame. Just how much pain was he in?

  
But the boy did answer. In a flat voice he said, “I was wrestling with my cousin Dudley, that’s how I got the bruises on my face. We both just got a bit over-enthusiastic. Then I fell down the stairs, I’m clumsy. That’s when I hurt my head and ribs and ankle.”

  
To anyone else it might have been believable, especially if they hadn’t spent the last forty minutes with the boy. He knew he was lying though; the injuries were just to numerous and severe. Yet Severus still doubted his ability to get the boy to talk. He was hardly a comforting presence and abused children were often ashamed and believed it was their own fault.

  
What was he meant to say now? He couldn’t scare Potter into confessing – a tactic he personally knew to be ineffective and harmful – and he wasn’t being allowed to heal him either. Poppy was still bustling around another student down by the door, she’d barely had time to spare them a glance.

  
He shook his head, “Perhaps, Mr. Potter you might show me what’s in your backpack. If I know the headmaster then I doubt he will make you purchase all your supplies again. Hogwarts has a fund for such things. It would be most helpful to know what you do not need replacements for.”

  
The fund was actually for students who couldn’t afford supplies but he didn’t want to say so. The boy was already clutching the sorry-looking bag again with fear in his eyes, “I would have already got new things sir. I just didn’t know how to get back to Diagon Alley.”

  
“I’m sure,” he replied dryly, “now I won’t take or touch any of your things, so you can stop looking at me like that.”

  
“I promise,” he added, voice softening a sickening amount when the child still didn’t move. Merlin, how was he to maintain his reputation like this!

  
Potter slowly unclipped the safety pins holding it closed – even the zip was broken and one of the shoulder straps was missing. He slowly pulled out the objects inside, glancing at Severus every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t moved.

  
There was a pack of pens and a couple of notepads (“I got them at the station”), some Chocolate Frog cards that were clearly from the train, some owl treats, a Hogwarts letter, a small pile of coins – both muggle and magical with a Gringotts key, two t-shirts, a pair of jeans and a jumper which were all far too large and some socks and underwear. Finally, the child pulled out a wand, a worn copy of The Hobbit that was severely dog-eared and a patch-work blanket with a tag on the corner.

  
Severus could just about make out the stitched writing on the tag. It read Made by Mum. He swallowed hard and avoided the boy’s anxious eyes. If he was not mistaken, all of Potter’s worldly possessions were in that bag. No wonder he wouldn’t let it go.

  
He cleared his throat roughly, “Thank you Potter. That is most helpful. Is… is that everything you have? There are no photographs?”

  
The child was already efficiently stuffing his things back inside his bag as he nodded, “Yes, this is everything from my cupboard. And photos of what?”

  
“Cupboard?” he asked confused.

  
“Yes, my cupboard. Don’t you know? I assumed all the teachers did. Or at least Dumbledore and McGonagall. Hagrid said it was Dumbledore who told my Aunt and Uncle to take me in,” the boy gave him a curious look, then shrugged and held up the envelope of his Hogwarts letter. It said The Cupboard Under the Stairs.

  
Severus didn’t know what to say. He was so out of his depth here and very shaken that he’d been so profoundly proven wrong in every belief he had about the Boy-Wonder. He’d expected Potter to spend the year tormenting him like his father and in return handing out dozens of detentions. But instead here was the Boy-Who-Lived neglected and abused! Lily’s son forced to live in a cupboard! He wasn’t surprised that Petunia had it in her but surely Dumbledore had told her that the boy was to be treated like a prince. Albus must have checked up on him every few years, made sure he wanted for nothing and then lavished him with further gifts himself. He couldn’t have known, could he? Not after making Severus himself swear to keep the boy safe. But then how could Dumbledore have not known.

  
He tried to keep the fury from his face. Dumbledore would be hearing about this loudly and at length. How could this have happened? Lily was probably yelling at them all for their blindness from the afterlife. Her son was as unlike James as possible and Severus didn’t know how to deal with being so wrong on all accounts. How was he to atone for betraying her to the Dark Lord when he couldn’t even protect her son from muggles? The child who he suddenly felt rather less grudging towards for having to protect him? Which was another realisation he didn’t know what to do with.

  
Suddenly he realised he’d said nothing for quite a while now. But how could Potter sound so matter-of-fact about the fact that he lived in a cupboard!? He thought he should at least explain about the letters, “I don’t know if Dumbledore knew but I doubt Professor McGonagall did. She only signs the letters. The house-elves use their magic to address the envelopes.”

  
Potter opened his mouth and closed it again. He sat there mutely.

  
“What?” he tried not to snap.

  
“So, is that what Coco was? A house-elf? And what photos, sir?” he asked very timidly.

  
“Yes. And photos of your parents of course. Shouldn’t they be with the rest of everything you own?”

  
“I don’t have any photos, sir. There aren’t any in my Aunt’s house,” Potter explained.

  
He gaped, “You don’t know what Lily and James look like?”

  
“Hagrid said I look just like my dad but I have my mum’s eyes. That’s all.”

  
“Yes, that would be accurate,” Severus acknowledged quietly. How in the name of Merlin’s saggy underwear could the child have no photos? He growled beneath his breath, “Fucking Tuney!”

  
Then Potter spoke unprompted for the first time, “Did you know my parents then Professor?” he burst out, as if unable to not speak though he then flinched back again.  
This was not what Severus had signed up for! But how could he not answer, he deserved to know something. The child was staring up at him pleadingly again. This time his eyes were shining, both with excitement and hope and with what were likely tears. He drew in a deep breath.

  
“Yes Potter, I knew your parents. Lily was my best friend even before Hogwarts. She was loyal, kind and fierce. She was very smart too, especially at Charms and Potions. Your grandparents were very proud of her. She had a cat, Daisy, and…” he couldn’t say anymore or he would start crying like the boy was and he absolutely refused to be so undignified, “I wasn’t friends with your father but he was very popular too. Potter was also clever, almost annoyingly so at Transfiguration. He played Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and he played lots of pranks with his friends. They both loved you very much,” he had never said so many nice things about James Potter before in his life! He thought he might be sick.

  
Potter scrubbed at his eyes furiously with his sleeve, “Thank you for telling me.”

  
Severus nodded curtly. There was no time to say anything else because Dumbledore had arrived, taking the moment as always to demonstrate his flair for the dramatic by flinging open the double doors. Minerva came in with the Sorting Hat as Poppy began scolding Albus for the noise. He stood up and grabbed the parchment from the diagnostic spell, “Wait here, Potter.”

  
He hurried up the ward towards the other three, any one of them would be able to deal with the small child better than he could. Soon he would be able to go to bed.

  
“Did you discover why Harry is in muggle clothes? And why his face is bruised?” Minerva looked very worried. She had obviously dragged Albus up here the moment the feast was finished.

  
“His Aunt and Uncle burned his school supplies. He says the bruises came from play-fighting with his cousin but this suggests differently,” Severus brandished the parchment in front of Albus’ face. He whispered furiously, “you left him there. I find it hard to believe you didn’t know that Petunia hates magic. Did you know? DID YOU KNOW?”

  
Surging most powerfully from his disorientating whirlpool of newfound emotion and uprooted convictions was a fierce protectiveness. Also, incandescent rage but to be fair anger of some strength or another was often simmering just below the surface. That wasn’t new. The crashing waves were too overwhelming for the implications to truly sink in that this reaction went far beyond the duty of responsibility he was obligated to as a teacher. In this moment, Severus only knew that it was unforgivable that Dumbledore had left Lily’s son to endure the same childhood he himself had.

  
The headmaster’s face paled dramatically as he took the parchment and began to read. The twinkle in his eye had died the moment Severus began speaking. He shook his head urgently and implored, “Severus, I didn’t know. I swear I had no idea they were capable of this. I thought that she’d be happy to take in her nephew. I mean I suspected Harry might be wanting for affection in comparison to his cousin… but I really didn’t know.”

  
“Wanting for affection?” he hissed, “Wanting for affection? The boy has been abused and neglected his entire life. He lived in a cupboard! Do you really not understand the damage you have caused? I assume now that you never went and checked on him.”

  
Minerva impatiently snatched the parchment for her and Poppy as Albus looked even more ashamed, “No. No, you’re right. I never checked on him. I should have. I’m sorry.”  
“Severus isn’t the one in need of apologies,” Poppy reprimanded him before turning away, “now I assume you’ve healed most of these?”

  
“He wouldn’t let me near him or use magic apart from that diagnostic – which for the record, I suspect would continue back for several years if I hadn’t stopped it – I gave him some Bruise Balm, Essence of Dittany and some ice. He applied them all himself. I hoped you would have more luck.”

  
Poppy hmphed and started back towards Potter. He trailed slightly behind, listening as Minerva informed Albus with a quiet rage and through quite the thinnest lips of disapproving that he’d ever seen her achieve that, “You’ve failed him, Albus. And you’ve failed Lily and James.”

  
They all had.

  
Potter was watching their group warily as they approached. He was holding onto both the owl and backpack once again. Minerva gasped at the bruises marring the child’s face, faded though they were now. Severus appreciated that Poppy by contrast was bustling around in her usual no-nonsense manner. That would be good for Potter.

  
“Hello Mr. Potter. I am Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts’ Healer. I see that Professor Snape has already taken good care of you but I need to heal the rest of your injuries now. How are you feeling?”

  
“Fine,” the boy muttered.

  
“Right then, you will have to take off your top for me,” she continued.

  
He shook his head and cowered away, “No, that’s not necessary please.”

  
“I’m afraid it is Mr. Potter. If you don’t let me heal your injuries by magic then you will have to stay here for at least a week until they have healed naturally. I will bring over a screen so the Professors don’t see if that helps?”

  
He scowled and nodded. It seemed the boy disliked the cold, sterile room as much as Severus did. Then he shocked them all, whispering, “Actually, would you please stay too, Professor Snape?”

  
He gulped and looked around his colleagues desperately to see if there was any way he could avoid the request. Minerva smiled reassuringly at him, the traitor she was!  
“Of course, Mr. Potter.”

  
Once behind the screen, Poppy gestured to the child again to take off his tops. He did so very slowly though from insolence or for caution of his injuries, it was impossible to tell. The screen was a good idea, neither Albus nor Minerva would be able to keep the horror from their faces so well as himself or Poppy.

  
Bruises of every shade mottled the child’s ribs, no doubt a result of the fractures the scan had identified. What Severus hadn’t expected though was for each singular rib to be so prominent. Potter had been under-nourished for a long time. The bruises extended down his stomach as well, where they were at least sickly green not deep black and puffy. Scrapes and grazes were visible not only on his elbows but down both forearms to his wrists and palms, likely from catching himself before sprawling on the ground. The left palm looked particularly bad and Severus felt quite sick again as he realised it was a burn scar, melted and discoloured as if held against an electric stove-top.

  
He unwillingly felt the most empathy with Potter when he saw his back. He couldn’t help the choked sound he made at the layers of scars, some silver, some scabbed over and oozing and some still all but bleeding. Severus knew exactly what it felt like to be struck with the buckle end of a belt and clearly, he had endured relatively little in relation to this child.

  
Poppy healed the injuries methodically, explaining what she was doing to Potter as she went. It must have helped because although he remained tense for the duration, he didn’t flinch at all. Finally, she healed a large bump on the back of his head before instructing him to put his tops back on and take off his trousers so she could take a better look at the ankle. His legs had a few scrapes and bruises but nothing particularly more than you would expect from an active child.

  
When she was done, Potter smiled properly for the first time, “Thank you.”

  
Poppy smiled back. Severus nodded approvingly. He didn’t smile at students as a rule.

  
“With your permission, Mr. Potter, I would mend the zip on your bag and clean your clothes?” he asked. Not out of kindness, you should understand, but necessity.  
Potter nodded.

  
With two flicks of his wand it was done, “Reparo. Scourgify.”

  
Potter thanked him again as Poppy moved the screen back and Albus took control of the little gathering at last. He smiled, “Now Harry, thank you for bearing with us this evening. You may go to bed soon. But first I want you to know how truly sorry I am for never checking on your Aunt and Uncle’s treatment of you for the last decade. Now you just need to be sorted into your House and then we’ll be done here.”

  
Minerva stepped forwards with the Sorting Hat and handed it to the boy. Severus thought that was a good plan since he would have assuredly recoiled had she tried to place it directly on his head. Nevertheless, he couldn’t contain a rather large jump as the Hat burst into song. Everyone else looked surprised too as they thought the Hat would skip that part with just one student here. As the final notes echoed round the room, he placed it on his head. It covered almost his entire face. Severus contained a smirk as Potter seemed to be arguing with the Hat – if the silently moving lips were anything to go by. After several minutes, the Hat finally announced, “GRYFFINDOR!”

  
As expected. He handed the Hat back to Minerva. Then Poppy gave Potter another jar of Bruise Balm, and three bottles; one pain reliever potion, one nutrition potion and another of Dreamless Sleep, “Take these before you go to sleep please Mr. Potter and tomorrow you will feel much better.”

  
“Very good. Professor McGonagall will escort you to Gryffindor Tower and show you your dormitory, Harry,” Dumbledore decided, “and luckily for us, tomorrow is Saturday so you can get your new school supplies in Hogsmeade then. Would you rather be accompanied by Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape?”

  
The child looked astounded at being given a choice, “Professor Snape, please?”

  
Severus groaned inwardly. It was not as if this Potter was so unbearable after all but he had hoped to get some brewing done tomorrow. There was nothing to be done about it though, he didn’t want to reject the child angrily. Apparently, he was involved now. He nodded, “Meet me in the Entrance Hall at nine o’clock. Do not be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please review.


	4. Hogsmeade Village

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews and the wonderful response overall. It is incredibly motivating.
> 
> Just to say that I know nothing about panic attacks so if that section is very unrealistic please I'm sorry and please let me know how I can improve it.
> 
> Also if anyone has ideas/ prompts for any cute bonding moments between Harry and Sev or his friends, I'd love to hear them and see what works with the plan I currently have for this story.

At exactly one minute to nine, Severus was joined by Potter in the Entrance Hall. The child was punctual, that was good. Potter looked rather apprehensive; he was twisting the sleeves of his ridiculous jumper in his hands as if he wanted to fidget with his whole body (as Lily had used to) but didn’t dare. At least all students wore their own clothes on the weekend so he didn’t stand out in particular. Other than that, his clothes were atrocities in themselves. He was glad to see that Poppy’s salve was working though, the child must have applied it again this morning because his bruises had faded significantly.

“Good morning Mr. Potter, are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus deliberately walked slower today but the boy didn’t seem at all bothered by his ankle and kept up with ease. They crossed the grounds in silence which he appreciated. The air was already crisp as Autumn arrived early in the Highlands and the grass still dripped with dew as the sun had yet to climb high enough to dispel the long shadows cast by Hogwarts’ multiple turrets.

Potter’s trainers were likely to already be soaked through and Severus thought he saw a few shivers in his periphery. Still the child said nothing, his jaw set firmly and Severus was surprisingly unnerved that he walked without any of the carefree bouncing that he normally despised to see among the first-years. It appeared that he didn’t speak to adults unless spoken to.

Jangling in his pocket was the pouch of money that Albus had entrusted him with at breakfast. Under no circumstances was he to allow the boy to pay for anything himself. Severus bristled that the headmaster felt the need to tell him that. Minerva and Poppy had also added their demands that he find out some more about the child’s life with the Dursleys.

Should he subtly lean into or just ask outright? He loathed to act like a Gryffindor but he knew the boy would be reluctant to talk either way which would make the inane conversation about ‘how does he like Hogwarts so far’ an even greater waste of energy.

Severus resigned himself to bluntly asking, “Will you please tell me about your injuries now? Or just anything else about living with your relatives?”

Potter immediately took a step further away from him before continuing to walk. He looked suspicious, “Why? Are you already regretting healing me? Looking for new ideas for your detentions?”

Merlin! Snape pushed his lank hair back, trying to stay objective about the accusations. Unfortunately, the boy took the raised hand as a punishment for what he’d said and flinched.

“Potter, I am only going to say this once so you’d better listen and believe me. I am not going to hit you. Not only does Hogwarts prohibit corporal punishment but I personally find the treatment you have endured from your relatives to be utterly despicable.”

“Oh,” he flushed.

“I only asked because a verbal statement about your abuse will make removing you from that house and finding you new guardians much easier. Although I imagine the headmaster could manage without since the physical evidence is damning enough. Still, do you not want different guardians?”

The child suddenly found the ground very interesting again. Severus stayed silent, knowing he would talk eventually. They were drawing close to Hogsmeade by now, what with all the gaps in conversation.

“What difference would it make? No one wants a freak like me. How would I know that anyone else wouldn’t be the same or worse? Uncle Vernon says they took me in from the kindness of their hearts, but I’m still a burden. That’s why I have to earn my keep, it’s not abuse. Freaks don’t deserve nice new things. And it seems like everyone magical only cares that I made Voldemort disappear. They don’t care about me really. No one does. Why would they?”

Potter’s dull voice got quieter and quieter until by the end of his devastating speech he was forcing out whispers between increasingly quick and harsh pants. He had started shaking uncontrollably and Severus found himself floundering which was never a situation he cared to be in. When a student had a panic attack – for he was quite certain that was what was happening here – in his Potions class he would usually hand them a Calming Draught and have their cauldron partner escort them to the Hospital Wing. He didn’t know what to do but try and stay still and calm himself. It was essential not to distress the child further but as last night he knew he was hardly a comforting let alone unassuming presence.

Severus wanted to yell and curse something. Between last night and now, nothing had provoked his wrath so much as since his Death Eater days. Maybe he could go and hex Petunia; he thought Lily would finally approve. No one deserved what Potter had experienced and no one could fix it. Not entirely. If Severus hadn’t been involved before, he was now. At the very least, he would find a way to show the child that he deserved human decency, respect and kindness. 

And… and well, he didn’t know what exactly he would do but he’d think of something. He knew now how unfounded his old beliefs that the boy would be exactly like his father were. He inwardly cried for the childhood that Lily’s son could have had if Severus hadn’t gone to the Dark Lord with the prophecy. He was not foolish nor selfish enough to think this was his chance at redemption; nothing could make up for his mistakes. 

Still, he had to try and do something. So long as Albus didn’t think he’d undergone a personality switch and started expecting him to be nice and patient with his Potions classes. He drew in a deep breath, “Alright Mr. Potter, please try and breathe in while counting to five, hold it and let it out both for five as well. Take your time, it doesn’t matter if you can’t immediately but it will help calm yourself.”

Potter eventually lifted his face up again. His eyes were lightless, as flat as his voice had been. He was still trembling visibly but not so alarmingly. Severus knew it wasn’t from the cold of course but he silently cast a Warming Charm on the boy anyway, subtly flicking his wand from within his pocket. He hoped his face hadn’t shown the full spectrum of tumultuous emotions he’d just experienced. They didn’t both need to be reeling from that.

“You are not a freak… Harry. I know that you’re not and maybe one day you’ll believe me. I know because Petunia used to call your mother and I freaks. She’s just jealous of our magic and scared of the unknown. But nothing excuses how small she has made you feel. You are not a burden and you should not have to earn your keep,” he kept eye-contact the entire time, just willing Potter to understand, “I admit that your concern about the consequences of your fame are valid but I promise you that I will do everything in my power to help the headmaster find you guardians who do want you and who will keep you safe and loved. I won’t let you go back there.”

“Really? You promise?” he asked in a small voice. A wave of relief washed over him that the boy had relaxed enough to talk.

Severus realised that was quite the promise he’d made. He felt rather alarmed when he noticed Potter’s eyes started looking watery again, “I promise. Now let’s not talk about this anymore right now because we have arrived. It’s time to go get your new things, which you definitely do deserve and need.”

While he would unhesitatingly attempt to calm him down, further coddling after the fact was asking too much. Thankfully the child seemed relieved at this (though more likely relieved that he wasn’t punished which Severus fervently wished was not the case) and nodded determinedly before looking around the street they were strolling down. 

His eyes and mouth were open wide at all the wondrous magic on display. However, while Severus could admit that the village was relatively picturesque, he hardly thought it deserved the level of awe that Potter’s rapturous face currently suggested he was viewing it with. He pushed open the door to Dervish and Banges and ushered the boy inside. They wound their way through a maze of precariously stacked shelves overflowing with odds and ends until a tall counter appeared. Potter hung back a bit, still taking everything in, as Severus greeted Mr. Dervish.

“Good morning. We need a school trunk, a pewter cauldron, some brass scales and a standard telescope for young Mr. James Evans here. The Hogwarts Express seems to have started vanishing luggage again,” he requested.

Potter looked up startled at the fake name. Severus explained quietly as the shopkeeper started pulling together the respective items, “I thought you wouldn’t want everyone knowing who you are. I assumed your earlier complaint was about the Leaky Cauldron… Hagrid also mentioned it. And Evans was Lily’s maiden name. Now, would you like a backpack or a satchel as your new schoolbag?”

As he had last night, the child looked baffled at being given a choice. Severus tried to ignore his rising temper. He couldn’t go around losing it as every time he discovered something else he had been deprived of. After several moments’ hesitation and a reassuring nod that this wasn’t a trick, Potter finally asked, “A backpack please?”

Severus lead them over to a stand about to topple over it had so many bags on it, “You may choose one from this stand, they all look pretty sturdy.”

“Are you sure, sir?” he looked unbelieving, “I already have a bag.”

“Even with my repairing charm that bag won’t hold more than one textbook without ripping apart. These come with an Undetectable Extension charm and a Featherlight charm. It’ll last until the end of your seventh year at least.”

Potter offered him a small smile and hastily grabbed a dark blue and green backpack. He clutched it to his chest as if afraid it would be taken back, “Thank you.”

Next, they stopped in Gladrags Wizardswear. Severus ordered a full uniform set including hat, gloves and scarf (“He’s a Gryffindor”) before leading the boy over to the muggle section. Soon Potter had two new pairs of jeans (one black and one blue), one pair of shorts for next summer, three jumpers (two hoodies and one woolly), half a dozen different coloured regular t-shirts and three with long-sleeves, socks, underwear and a raincoat since he couldn’t wear his winter cloak in muggle areas. Finally, they purchased a pair of smart school shoes, a pair of trainers and a pair of winter boots.

Severus just wished the child would stop thanking him as they packed almost all of it into the new trunk. He’d insisted that Potter wear some of the clothes immediately and suggested burning Dudley’s cast-offs.

The last stop before lunch was Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop which as well as the obvious quills, ink and parchment also conveniently stocked the full Hogwarts’ book list. The money Dumbledore had withdrawn from the school fund was almost gone by the time they were done. Severus rolled his eyes as Potter stumbled and almost knocked over a stack of books taller than himself. It would have been quite the spectacular avalanche too if the shopkeeper hadn’t been so quick with a Freezing charm, “Happens all the time.”

As they sat in a secluded corner of The Three Broomsticks, he noticed the child squinting almost comically at the menu. Flicking his wand under the table, he slid the candle subtly closer yet the light made no difference. Severus had decided they would eat here for lunch rather than be subjected to the usual relentless wall of noise in the Great Hall. They were going to return immediately after the meal but it seemed they still had one errand left.

“Potter, the state of your glasses is a disgrace in itself but are they even helping you see right now?” he demanded.

Severus immediately realised that had mistakenly come out at his usual level of harshness but it was too late. The boy was already curling in on himself, a flush visibly rising on his cheeks even as he kept his gaze trained on his trembling hands, “No sir. My glasses are fine.”

He cursed himself and tried again, “I didn’t mean to suggest that your glasses’ sorry state is due to any fault of your own, only that you appear to be having trouble reading the menu. When were your eyes last tested?”

“Oh,” Potter’s shoulders dropped half an inch, “I got my glasses when I was four. My Reception teacher insisted to Aunt Petunia that I needed them. Only time she and Uncle Vernon couldn’t persuade a teacher they were wrong.”

Severus filed the extra details away for later, noticing also that his question hadn’t really been answered, “So you first got glasses then but when was your last eye examination?”  
“When I got my glasses,” the child mumbled, giving him a confused look.

He tried not to exclaim his indignation too loudly but with each new detail of petty neglect revealed Severus felt more and more like he was about to explode, “You haven’t had your eyes tested in seven years?!”

“Yeah. Why does it matter?”

“Because you need glasses that actually work and those ones obviously do not.”

After a satisfying lunch, they went to the Eyeglasses Emporium. Well, it would have been a satisfying lunch if he hadn’t been watching Potter eat only a few – admittedly at first very enthusiastic – mouthfuls before pushing the rest of his food around the plate while waiting for Severus to finish. Once again, the child barely ate half of the meal but he didn’t want to push it. It would take time for his stomach to adjust to proper meals after all and for now Poppy was supplying him with nutrition potions every breakfast and dinner.

The Emporium was another poky little shop with a too low door and ceiling. And it had one of those infuriating bells that tinkled every time someone entered or left. Severus wondered if having a bell was a requirement for owning a store in Hogsmeade. But the service was efficient and they soon left feeling very pleased. He was glad that it wouldn’t be long now until he could return to his own peaceful quarters to spend some time brewing uninterrupted. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be required to see another soul until Monday morning. 

Potter meanwhile was ecstatic about his new glasses. He was finally bouncing around like a normal eleven-year-old – Severus didn’t like that he found this reassuring rather than irritating – and beaming at every miniscule new detail he discovered about the village. His smile, apparently, was very like Lily’s. He supposed it was good to finally see it for longer than a few seconds as his nerves and beyond-his-years-seriousness subsided in the face of childish joy and innocence.

His new glasses were metal, not plastic, and the frames a rounded rectangle rather than completely circular. Furthermore, they were imbued with basic Self-repairing and Water-repelling charms. Nothing that would stand up to being smashed by a bludger but enough that they wouldn’t get scratched or dented. Severus had also insisted on buying a spare pair; he had no doubt that James Potter’s son wouldn’t find a way to lose or break them. Of course, he’d already recognised Potter wasn’t his father in many ways but a propensity for mischief and reckless adventures was sure to have been passed along, at least to some degree. After all, he and Lily had pulled multiple pranks of their own over the years. The only difference: they’d never got caught.

The child had obviously tried to convince him that the spare pair was unnecessary but Severus firmly believed that if Dumbledore handed him the school’s money to spend then every last knut should and would be spent. Besides which, the glasses were a good investment. By then the boy had wandered off quite a way so he hastily shrunk down the full trunk and put it in his pocket before following. All the supplies had been bought excepting potions’ ingredients; he’d already informed Potter he would owl order him those supplies from his preferred apothecary. 

Hogsmeade’s apothecary had been shut down last year due to an infestation of Man-Eating Mould. The owner had lost a leg and the scandal was splashed all over the Daily Prophet for at least a week. Severus was most appalled that the infestation had grown so big as it would certainly have contaminated the store’s entire stock. If students were buying such poor-quality ingredients it was no wonder so many cauldrons exploded. That was the first and last time he ever agreed with something written by Rita Skeeter.

He caught up to Potter to find the boy with his nose all but pressed up against a shop window. Severus noted with distaste that it was Honeydukes but the boy was gazing dreamily at the confectionary, seemingly unaware of his approach. They could smell the rich scent of the patented chocolate seeping through a crack in the doorframe.

Wondering what in Merlin’s name could possibly happened to him – perhaps Albus had hit him with a Confundus charm – and hoping against hope he wasn’t about to destroy his reputation any further, Severus reached into his pocket and withdrew ten sickles. The child had already turned and was gloomily trudging away from the shop towards him. He pressed the coins into his hand and nudged him back to the door.

Potter stared at him in disbelief, “Uh… thank…”

“Just be quick,” Severus requested, trying to curb his impatience. He wasn’t used to this whole ‘being nice’ business nor was he sure he liked it. And the boy had thanked him so many times today already it was starting to sound like it wasn’t even a real word anymore.

Five minutes later, Potter exited the shop clutching a brown paper bag brimming with sweets. He selected a Fizzing Whizzbee and then unbelievably offered the bag to Severus. Startled but still with great consideration as there was quite an assortment to be had, he picked out a Pepper Imp. 

“Thank you, Potter… Now I would appreciate it if you could save most of those for later. Today was a pleasant surprise since most Hogsmeade weekend I supervise are distastefully chaotic. I only request you respect my preference to avoid students when they’re high on a sugar rush.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review


	5. The First Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: just to say that some of what Sev says in his Potions class is verbatim from the first book so obviously all rights to J.K. Rowling.

Harry’s first week at Hogwarts had gone by very quickly and, surprisingly enough considering the rocky start, without further incident. He was glad nothing else had happened that would give people even more of a reason to stare since they did that enough anyway. Despite him not being at the Welcome Feast, word had soon got round that Harry Potter was at Hogwarts. The rumour mill was churning even faster with speculation on why he hadn’t been at the feast. 

Since McGonagall had taken him back to Gryffindor Tower last Friday night, she’d sternly stopped Ron and Neville, but mostly Ron, from starting a full-blown interrogation at almost midnight. Their other roommates were already asleep. In fact, she was so stern they were even a bit hesitant to ask the next morning. Hermione though was far too curious to let it go. Even Draco had sauntered over to the Gryffindor table during Saturday breakfast to find out what had happened after he’d followed Snape off. Apparently, you only had to sit at your house table during dinner and Draco declared himself to be personally affronted that Harry hadn’t told them earlier he was Harry Potter.

“So, did you get in trouble?” Hermione demanded eagerly.

“No. The teachers just wanted to know why I wasn’t in uniform,” he scooped up some scrambled eggs. It was weird that they still wanted to talk to him but perhaps it was just because he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Which you’re still not,” said Draco pointedly.

“You’re the only one wearing robes now. Even Ron and Neville are in muggle clothes. It’s the weekend,” Harry shrugged and tried to appear unbothered.

“You still haven’t told us why. And your face looks better today… well not, not painful but better,” Ron persisted.

“I set my stuff on fire with accidental magic,” he ignored the comment about his bruises.

“So why didn’t you say? It’s hardly embarrassing. Although you could’ve gone back to Diagon Alley.”

“Kind of hard to explain to muggles though. And I didn’t remember how to get back there. Look, it’s almost nine, I have to go. Snape’s taking me to Hogsmeade to get new stuff, "Bye,” he shoved a last bite of toast in his mouth.

“WHAT?” the others exclaimed. The other Gryffindors looked horrified but Draco jealous. He ignored them and hurried towards the doors. Snape had actually been pretty decent last night so Harry wasn’t terrified of being expelled anymore but he still didn’t want to be late. And spending an entire day with an almost unknown adult was rather nerve-racking. It was amazing that Snape knew his mum though, but he didn’t dare hope to find out anything else.

That night he lay in bed wide awake. It had been the best day ever, panic attack not-withstanding. And he’d even snapped out of it pretty quickly too. Black spots had started swimming in and out of his vision just before Snape started talking. He’d clung to the words over the rushing in his ears, willing that the nice things he’d said were true in that moment. It had pulled him out of the frozen state surprisingly quickly and Snape hadn’t looked anymore cross than usual. 

That was new and weird. The Dursleys and even his old primary school teacher’s usual method of dealing with his ‘freak-outs’ was rather harsher. They didn’t happen that often really, just when he was scared and expecting repercussions of not knowing his place. Now he was at Hogwarts they would probably hardly ever happen.

And really it was a miracle he hadn’t had a full-blown attack yesterday either. But he’d been running purely on the adrenaline of escaping the Dursleys the whole day so apparently that had held it off. Sure, it was a near thing in the Hospital Wing but even there, he admitted, would have been better than at the train station.

Today he’d got even more new things than on all his birthdays and Christmases combined although Snape clearly didn’t think any of it was that special. But Harry was pretty certain it was Snape’s own money he’d given him to get sweets with which was especially unbelievable. He’d stashed most of them away apart from a huge bar of chocolate which he’d split between himself, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Draco.

On Sunday, they all went down to the Great Lake to laze in the sun. He wore his new muggle clothes and marvelled in the mirror at how different he looked, how normal. His old ones, he left in his old backpack at the bottom of his trunk, just in case. Harry lugged all his textbooks outside with him so he could have some idea of what might be happening in classes the next day. Hermione and Draco each nicked one and started reading too. It was a nice kind of quiet, rather than a scary one. Although Ron had declared them all “Boring!” and convinced Neville to play Exploding Snap with him again.

They all laughed at Draco’s indignant spluttering after the Giant Squid had drifted close to the shore before using a ginormous tentacle to send a wave at him. He was completely soaked through and squelched back to his dungeon dorm in a huff. According to Draco, none of the other first-year Slytherin were friendship worthy. Harry wondered if he realised how ridiculously high his expectations were but didn’t mention it because how he himself qualified was a mystery.

Draco had explained earlier, “Well, Crabbe and Goyle are obviously boring and not very clever. I suppose Nott and Zabini are decent enough but they’re already best friends and of course all of the girls are insufferably vapid!” 

Hermione had a similar opinion of the other Gryffindor girls.

As it turned out, magic was a lot more complicated than just waving a wand and yelling abracadabra. By Thursday evening they’d accumulated enough homework to make the entire concept of having a weekend pointless and they hadn’t even had Potions yet! So far Transfiguration was the hardest, Astronomy he didn’t really care about one way or another and Charms was easy. Defence Against the Dark Arts was also easy but disappointingly so. Harry thought Herbology was alright since it wasn’t so different from gardening and obviously, he’s done lots of gardening before. 

History of Magic was a complete waste of time. Binns hadn’t even done a real lesson; the entire time he spent droning on about what they would be learning in each lesson for the rest of the year. As soon as it was obvious nothing important was actually going to be taught, Harry had pulled out his Potions textbook and immersed himself in that instead. He thought that it wouldn’t take too much longer and soon he’d be completely impervious to Hermione’s disapproving frowns and glares. At least he was doing something productive, Ron had started doodling Chudley Cannons player within seconds of sitting down and now his head was quite literally on his desk. Only the occasional muffled groan alerted them to the fact he was actually still awake. In a couple weeks, though, he’d probably be fully snoring and drooling – well maybe not drooling – every history lesson.

In fact, Harry had discovered a sudden determination to do his best in every single class. Now that he knew his parents had both been super clever, he wanted more than ever to make them proud. He missed them more now too but Snape telling him about them had been his favourite moment of Hogwarts so far. Even if it looked like it had physically hurt Snape to talk about them. Anyway, this new ambition was powerful enough to make him forcefully break his long-time habit of academic mediocrity. Before he’d never been allowed to do better than Dudley which in itself took quite a lot of effort since Dudley was hardly an average student. Still, in a potentially reckless moment of bravery and optimism Harry had decided he no longer cared about what the Dursleys thought. After all, they weren’t studying the same subjects anymore.

During breakfast on Friday, Hedwig (he’d finally found a name for her in his History of Magic textbook) flew in with post for Harry for the first time. Hermione and Ron had both already had a letter from their parents and Neville one from his Gran. Draco, who was sitting with them again, had already received two letters from his mum, one from his Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted and even one from his cousin Dora who had just graduated last year and was now travelling around South America. 

The note was from Hagrid, inviting Harry to visit that afternoon. Unfortunately, this prompted Ron and Draco to start a vicious argument about who would get to go with him. Although they got along well enough most of the time by ignoring each other, they refused to be in each other’s vicinity if their group was any less than the full five of them. Otherwise Draco would sulk off to find Nott and Zabini, or Ron to Seamus and Dean in a similar strop. Sometimes they both left leaving Harry with either Hermione or Neville.

Harry was actually rather pleased that either boy wanted to spend time with him enough to fight over it. And after the drama of Wednesday evening he was finally more confident that they really were all friends. They’d been in the library, since Hogwarts was disappointingly lacking in inter-house spaces, when a couple of Gryffindor second-years had rudely invited him to hang out with them, saying the Boy-Who-Lived shouldn’t have to put up with such losers. The others had then told them with various colourful expressions to (as Ron had put it the best) “Bugger off!” That lost them some house points from Pince before Harry eventually found enough courage to ask if they all just hung out with him because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He was very reassured by their passionate, and slightly insulted, promises to the contrary.

Ron and Draco’s row was increasing exponentially in volume by now and Harry thought he’d better shut them up before a Prefect came and docked any more points. Since Neville seemed to share the same bemusement and delight at having friends as Harry did, he made a decision. Waiting until they both had to pause dramatically to breath, Harry announced quietly, “Well, I actually thought that you, Neville, might want to visit Hagrid with me?”

Neville grinned and quickly agreed as Ron and Draco finally shut up and scowled. Hermione gave him a small smile of thanks for restoring the peace. She had already declared her intention of spending the afternoon in the library and didn’t mind at all about being left out.

Breakfast finished a couple minutes later and they all followed Draco down to the dungeons. No one wanted to be late to Professor Snape’s class and Harry was glad that everyone was distracted today and didn’t nag about his food. He’d chosen porridge today too because that was less obvious if he only ate a few bites. He was trying really, but the others didn’t get that. At least they’d stopped pushing about the bruises. But only because they were all gone, only the slightest twinge in his ribs or ankle now and only in the evening.

The chilly Potions lab had ugly sconces spaced regularly along the damp walls, holding torches which sputtered far more than they should when one considered the lack of windows and therefore a breeze. Harry thought that Snape had been very deliberate in creating this atmosphere of ominous shadows and it must be effective on most students since Neville shuddered beside him.

Harry took a seat in the middle row (a compromise between Ron’s preference for the back and Hermione’s for the front) by the middle aisle. He partnered with Neville because Ron and Draco were still mad, so on Neville’s other side was Hermione and then Ron. And since the benches were only long for four, Draco sat across the aisle from him with a Slytherin girl called Tracey and then Nott and Zabini. This arrangement had the added advantage of keeping Ron and Draco as far apart as possible.

He was very glad that Snape didn’t single him out while taking the register, it had been embarrassing enough when Flitwick toppled off his stack of books. Snape had just finished proclaiming his expectation of them all being dunderheads when he spotted Ron who was doodling a very unflattering caricature of the professor as a vampire bat living in a cave.  
Ron didn’t notice him silently swooping down on their bench until he spoke in a deadly soft, silky tone, “Weasley! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Ron jerked his head up, face paling rapidly as he shrank back on his stool, “I don’t know, sir.”

Snape sneered and ignored the hand Hermione was waving around, “Let’s try again. Weasley, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Harry glared at Draco’s smirking face. It was only the first lesson after all, surely, they weren’t expected to know all this already? He felt rather bad for Ron until his heart suddenly leapt because somehow, he knew the answer to Snape’s next question, “Perhaps then you’ll know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Reading his textbook during History of Magic had been useful after all. Harry tentatively raised his hand and smirked himself at Hermione’s shocked face when Snape called on him.

“They’re the same plant, aren’t they sir?”

“Correct, Mr. Potter. The plant also goes by the name of aconite.”

Harry quietly felt very proud of himself. Despite his earlier resolutions, this had been the first time he volunteered an answer in class. And he’d gotten it right! And it was Potions! He especially wanted to do well in Potions, not just to live up to the memory of his mum but also to impress Professor Snape. It was more even than wanting to prove that he wasn’t as helpless as he’d felt last week, he wanted to prove he deserved the help Snape had given him. Snape obviously didn’t suffer fools and being the first person to ever suggest that Harry wasn’t a waste of time or space, Harry was determined nothing should change that opinion.

“For your information, Weasley, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons,” Snape then snatched the parchment from Ron’s desk, “Two points will be taken from Gryffindor House, Weasley. One for failing to open a book before you arrived and another for flagrant disrespect.”

Ron looked angry but didn’t dare argue as he stalked back towards his desk. After they’d copied all of that down, they started brewing a potion to cure boils in pairs. Neville was less successful at ignoring the way Snape loomed and snapped than Harry was. Just as they were finishing up, he averted a near disaster as Neville almost added the porcupine quills before putting out the fire under the cauldron. The professor caught his eye and jerked his head in an almost imperceptible nod.

Everyone started hastily clearing away their equipment when the bell rang for lunchtime. Silently, they filed past Snape and handed in their phials of potion. As Harry was about to leave, Snape called, “A word Mr. Potter, please?”

He sighed and stepped out of the way of the door, trying to ignore his classmates’ curious looks. Once everyone had finally left, Snape sat down at his desk, “Pull up a chair, Potter.”

Harry sat on his hands to hide the shaking. He didn’t know what he had done to get in trouble. Not that Uncle Vernon had ever needed a reason to punish him. But he reminded himself quickly that so far Snape had only ever acted in the complete opposite way to Uncle Vernon. Even if the only expressions he wore were either entirely impassive or brimming with contempt. Admittedly the latter had never been directed at him so Harry was fairly certain he probably wasn’t being lulled into a false sense of security before the storm.

As he waited, an odd thought struck Harry that Snape was also waiting. But as far as he could tell, Snape was a very impatient person and now he was suddenly determined to win the challenge of not speaking first. It took an eternity until the professor finally made a small noise of annoyance. Harry celebrated his victory inwardly.

“Your work today was good. After Mr. Malfoy’s and Miss. Granger’s potions, yours will likely be the third most effective at curing boils.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry felt a weird sensation as if his insides were glowing.

“How have you found your other classes?”

“They’re fine. Better than muggle school.”

“And how are your injuries? All healed by now I hope.”

“Yes, sir. I feel better than I can ever remember.”

Something new flashed in Snape’s eyes but just as quickly it was gone again. Harry didn’t think he’d said anything particularly interesting though. He hoped this interrogation would be over soon, he was very hungry after concentrating so hard all morning. His stomach growled and he hoped Snape wouldn’t notice and think him rude. But no such luck.  
“And have you been taking your nutrition potions? I’ve noticed that you still aren’t eating much.”

“I’ve been taking the potions but they always fill me up about halfway so I’m not super hungry at breakfast or dinner. I eat more at lunch though.”

Harry didn’t dare add that how would he know, since Snape was rarely in the Great Hall during lunch. He wondered why the professor was continuing to pretend to care. Last week he’d only healed Harry and taken him to Hogsmeade because it was his job, he’d said so. Surely there was no more duties of responsibility now that Harry was fine. He wasn’t even his head of house! But then that didn’t explain all of the nice things Snape had said about him not being a freak and deserving stuff. Although he didn’t dare to really believe all that. It was just all so confusing; adults had never talked to Harry before.

“You know you’ll have to continue taking them until Madam Pomfrey says otherwise.”

“Yes, sir,” he agreed dully.

“Now is there anything you feel ready to tell me about the Dursleys yet?”

Harry shook his head and stared at his new shiny shoes. The only thing he felt ready for right now was lunch. And fresh air because the dungeon was suddenly feeling a lot smaller and darker and the air heavier. The torches cast longer, more menacing shadows and he wished Snape would stop asking because there was nothing to talk about. He just wanted everyone to stop pushing even though his friends had no idea what they were pushing at. It meant nothing that he already felt safer with Snape than any other adult because the suspense of waiting for reality to hit, however irrational, was becoming too much to bear.

But before he could do something stupid that would undoubtably make him mad, like running away, Snape spoke again, “Very good… then, um, I just…” he hesitated and awkwardly cleared his throat.

Harry glanced up, surprised at the professor doing such an un-Snape-like thing as hesitating. And he wasn’t meeting Harry’s eyes either. Then he opened a creaky drawer from his desk and reached in to pull out a small sheath of papers. He held them out, his voice somehow gentler, “I thought you might like these. You can keep them. They’re copies.”

“Thank you,” he took the papers, annoyed at his still trembling hand and looked down to study them. They were photographs! He gasped as he flicked through them and realised they must be of his mum and dad. Harry furiously blinked away the rapidly forming tears. He didn’t want to cry in front of Snape again and the tears made his eyes too blurry to see the photos.

The first photo was of their wedding. His mum was wearing a pretty white dress with her vibrant red hair cascading over her shoulders and his dad was in formal tuxedo-like robes. Inexplicably they both wore daisy chains in their hair, probably a joke on his dad’s behalf. It was a wizarding photograph so they smiled and waved, arms around each other and Harry imagined they were actually looking at him. He carefully traced their features, finally able to see what Hagrid had been going on about. 

Next, was a muggle photo of Lily when she must have been his age. Snape was in it too, judging by the same hooked nose and longish ink-black hair. They were standing in a park by a stream, grinning and holding up their Hogwarts letters. Mum was wearing rolled-up jeans and a t-shirt while Snape’s hoodie reminded him of his own old one. They were both barefoot and on their other side was a picnic blanket.

In the third photo, was dad standing in an official looking line-up of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. They were all wearing red and gold quidditch robes and looking closely, Harry could see a shiny captain’s badge pinned proudly on James’ chest. He and another boy were hoisting the gigantic silver champions cup into the air while a Golden Snitch fluttered over their heads.

The final photo showed a toddler – who Harry realised with a start was himself – zooming around on a tiny broomstick while a pair of legs that must have been dad chased him. Off to the right, mum was laughing while clutching a very disgruntled looking cat. 

Harry didn’t care anymore about the rapidly falling tears, he was so happy and sad and too many other emotions to name but that had left him feeling thoroughly overwhelmed. He looked back up at Professor Snape and hoarsely thanked him again. It was probably his imagination but Snape’s eyes looked rather brighter than usual as well. The moment he was dismissed, Harry grabbed his bag and took off. He ended up at the top of the Astronomy Tower and sank down against a wall to stare at the photos some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please review!


	6. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say thank you again for the incredible response and that is hugely motivational. I will continue posting on Mondays as often as possible although now school's started again that might get a bit trickier. 
> 
> Also, I do my own editing so if there ever are any glaring mistakes please let me know. Editing normally just turns into adding at least an extra 500 words!
> 
> Finally, I am cross-posting this story on fanfic.net. Pretty much same username but hyphens instead of underscores.

When Madam Hooch marched back outside fifteen minutes after taking Neville to the hospital wing, everyone scrambled up from where they’d been lounging on the lawn and grabbed their broomsticks.

“Hurry up, now! Mr. Longbottom’s wrist will be fine. We’ve less than an hour less and I want to have progressed past hovering by the end of class.”

Harry found hovering very easy and was soon impatient to be moving on as well. The rest of the class were pretty evenly split between those perfectly steady two metres up in the air and those who were wobbling all over the place or sliding down towards the twigs. Ron and Draco were equally at ease on a broom as Harry and they were doing a terrible job at hiding their incredulous disbelief that he wasn’t struggling as much as Hermione and most of the other muggleborns.

He tried not to be insulted since his nerves for flying would have been much worse if he hadn’t known that dad had been good at flying and his hope this was another thing he’d inherited. Harry had fallen to sleep for the last six nights staring at the photos of his parents by the light of his wand – the only charm he knew so far.

Out of sheer boredom, Harry pulled Neville’s Remembrall out of his pocket and started playing catch with himself. Luckily it hadn’t broken when Neville had fallen and he’d scooped it up quickly so it wasn’t lost. Suddenly, Hermione swerved towards him out of control and he dropped the Remembrall as he veered left to avoid a painful collision. Then Harry angled downwards, determined not to be responsible for breaking his friends’ possessions, and lunged to catch the Remembrall just inches before it risked smashing a second time. As he pulled out of the dive, the angle and speed made him lose balance and Harry found himself upside-down and clinging to the broom like a sloth before heaving himself back up. In control again he circled back to his spot at the end of the line to see Ron and Draco gaping at him.

“Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter! For reckless flying, endangering yourself and other students and failing to follow instructions!”

Harry barely heard Madam Hooch as adrenaline thrummed through his body. He’d finally found something he was naturally good at! Flying was effortless and fun; he grinned unreservedly at his friends and revelled in the new sensation on his heart pounding from something other than fear.

Then Madam Hooch allowed everyone she deemed competent to start doing slow anti-clockwise laps of an area about a quarter the size of a football pitch. She warded the area heavily to stop anyone drifting away and cast several powerful Cushioning Charms on the ground before returning to the rest of the class. Harry was made to keep hovering for another five minutes before Hooch finally narrowed her eyes and hmphed at him, “I suppose you might as well go and join the rest… slowly!”

…

They were all in the library after dinner – apart from Neville who still hadn’t returned from the hospital wing – when Ron suggested, “Harry, why don’t you try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team?”

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration textbook, shocked and confused, “But I don’t have a broomstick.” 

Hermione and Draco also protested the far-fetched idea although their problems with it were as different from each other as they were to Harry’s. Although Draco’s was at least more relevant compared to Hermione’s demand, “Ron! Stop distracting us and concentrate on your essay for Professor Snape. It’s due in tomorrow and you’re the only one who has finished it yet.”

“Do try and remember the existence of your brain, Weasley. Everyone knows first-years never get on the team, “Draco drawled imperiously, “No offence Harry. You’re definitely good enough.”

“Actually Black, the sign Oliver Wood put up on the noticeboard said everyone’s welcome. It’s his first year as captain so Fred and George reckon he’s pretty desperate to put a good team together. Especially since we haven’t won the cup since Charlie left.”

“Yeah, you haven’t!” crowed Draco before they all urgently shushed him and checked that Madam Pince wasn’t lurking around the next row of shelves, ready to kick them out. It had already happened once this week so they all felt rather paranoid and kept furtively glancing around the room. Pince was rumoured to hold grudges longer than even Filch.

“Sorry!” Draco whispered, “But now Weasley’s finally mentioned that crucial detail, I actually think you should actually go for it, Harry.”

“I still don’t have a broomstick.”

“No but I do! Remember how I said when we met in Madam Malkin’s that I was going to beg mother for a new racing broom. Well, it worked and she bought me the new Cleansweep. Only then she magically warded the new broom shed so I couldn’t smuggle it into school. I think Aunt Andromeda warned her that Dora had tried the same thing…”

“And how is that going to help Harry exactly? Otherwise don’t brag about your fancy new broom. You’ve been prattling so long our ears are about to drop off,” Ron sneered.

“Jealous, Weasley?” Draco teased in a sing-song voice, “But what mother forgot…”

Hermione interrupted by dramatically dropping a terrifyingly thick book on the table. Harry scowled at her because his parchment was now fully saturated with ink, not that he’d actually written down more than the title yet, but still. His frown sadly went unnoticed as she started flipping pages until landing on one with a small sound of triumph. Hermione smiled in a way that didn’t quite meet her eyes and picked up her wand to twirl around as she read aloud, “Auris evanescet. A jinx to make ears disappear. Can be reversed by the general counter-curse Finite Incantatem if cast by the original jinxer… it says here this is a third-year spell but I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it…”

Draco and Ron’s faces paled several shades – impressive when you considered how fair their complexions already were. Ron clapped his hands over his ears in a rather Neville-like reaction while Draco opposed the threat much more smoothly, “Completely unnecessary. Please do excuse us and continue with your essay in peace.”

Harry smirked even though Hermione relented immediately. For all she was sometimes bossy and a know-it-all, she could relax and have fun too. She was slowly revealing a borderline wicked sense of humour and was never above threats that involved her getting to test some new magic. Even if most first-year magic was rather frivolous.

Silence soon fell over their small group and even Ron worked diligently for the few minutes until Draco finished his work with a flourish and leaned in. He started whispering, “As I was saying, mother completely forgot about the old broom shed. So, I have my old Comet Two Sixty in the false bottom of my trunk, if you want to borrow it.”

At the possibility that he could actually try out, Harry suddenly found himself much more interested now it wasn’t just hypotheticals, “But neither of us can be seen walking around school with a broomstick. At least not one that isn’t as battered as the ones we had to use today, which I assume yours isn’t.”

“It’s not,” Draco confirmed haughtily, “we’ll have to do a secret exchange. How about tonight at midnight? We can meet in the trophy room, that’s about equal distance between our common rooms.”

“But I still can’t carry it down to the pitch Saturday after next. I don’t want to get detention or have your broom confiscated.”

Luckily Ron had an idea, “Give it to Fred and George to look after until try outs. They’ll do it for sure, they love helping people break rules.”

“Ok. Let’s do it,” Harry grinned. This was going to be a proper adventure and he was very excited. His friends were the best. Now he had a chance to really make dad proud, and even if he didn’t make the team it would be at least be a chance to fly for real. 

…

“I hope the try outs are worth it,” Hermione glared pointedly at the broom Harry was clutching, “Now I’m going to bed before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed – or worse, expelled.”

Harry thought this was rather unfair since she’d chosen to come along and it was Ron, not him, who’d been yelling at midnight in an echoey hallway. Worst of all, Ron had started the argument because apparently Draco was being too loud and was going to give them all away. That was what had alerted Filch and Mrs. Norris to their secret mission. Then their luck had gotten even worse as they all split up and dashed away because the four Gryffindors bumped into Peeves near the Charms room. Peeves, who’d taken great delight in helping Filch in his dogged search for them. 

He hoped that having both Filch and Peeves after them meant Draco had safely gotten back to his own common room without being discovered. But mostly Harry was looking forwards to telling him all about the humungous three-headed dog that had almost eaten them. It was the kind of adventure that Draco was going to be supremely jealous over missing but only because he couldn’t brag about it after.

As soon as he discarded his new trainers Harry flopped face-down onto his bed and burrowed his face into the fluffy pillow. He still wasn’t used to the relative decadence of their dorm. His duvet was extremely cosy and for the first time in Harry’s memory the only reason he was reluctant to get out of bed in the mornings was because it was so comfy. It turned out that the red and gold hangings on the four-poster beds were actually quite useful too. Harry had thought them ridiculous but whenever he pulled them closed, he was left alone and could relax in a safe space. Suddenly, a small dark place didn’t induce mind-numbing claustrophobia. He could leave the drapes just slightly open so a chink of light could cast soft shadows across the covers.

It was then that Harry would retrieve his new photographs and trace his parents’ features in wonder. But tonight, he fell fast asleep before Ron or Neville’s snores could disturb his peaceful haven. And tired as he as from their night-time exploits, even his usual nightmares couldn’t reach him. The others wouldn’t notice a difference because Harry had long since learnt that pretending he didn’t exist was required when he was asleep as equally as during the day. He hadn’t made a noise louder than a whimper during a nightmare in years.

…

Harry jogged towards the pitch after breakfast nine days later, trying not to slip on the mud created by yesterday’s relentless downpour and embarrass himself before try outs even began. He was particularly glad of his new boots as large clumps of the cloying earth stuck to his feet. The support of his friends was uplifting as well, as they were all trudging and skidding besides him to watch from the stands. Ron was complaining about the weather but Harry knew that the overcast sky would make it easier to fly without the sun glare on his glasses.

As he lined up with the other hopefuls, Harry imagined he was already flying and that helped him ignore the dirty looks they were shooting him. There were two sixth-years, three from each fourth and third-year and one second-year who he thought might be called McLaggen. Wood frowned at him but said nothing so Harry supposed he really was desperate to find a Seeker. The rest of the team were waiting a little way off and the Weasleys twins sent him two thumbs-up. They’d given him Draco’s broom back just five minutes ago, outside Hogwarts’ imposing entrance doors.

Of course, Ron and Draco had explained Quidditch to him whilst respectively singing the praises of or ruthlessly disparaging the Chudley Canons. Still, Harry felt woefully unprepared when Wood just released the Golden Snitch, counted down from ten and announced that the first person to catch it would make the team! But he couldn’t just give up, not after that dog had almost devoured his friends for their efforts in making this chance for him. That he’d never done this before was entirely irrelevant.

The other nine quickly formed an airborne equivalent of a rugby scrum. Harry shot after them but opted to stay flitting around the edges of the fray. He could see elbows jabbing ribs and shoulders jostling in all directions. Even McLaggen was practically twice his size so Harry knew he wouldn’t last thirty seconds if he joined in. That was the kind of instinct you developed quickly after a few run-ins with Dudley’s gang. He wanted this lot focused on each other, not the Golden Snitch and definitely not on the latest version of Harry-Hunting.

It would of course be safest to methodically circle the pitch from high up but while Harry didn’t want to be utterly reckless today that still sounded too boring. And if the Snitch did appear near the continuing melee of ‘Gryffindor idiots’ – as Draco would put it – then he’d have no chance of catching it. Or it could make him a target despite trying to stay away and at the very least it didn’t allow him to prove his flying skills to Oliver Wood at all.

So, Harry stayed on the outskirts of the roiling mass of elbows, twigs and the occasional fist, and tested his limits with a few spontaneous spins and flips, all the while searching for a flash of gold. They were migrating closer to the ground when all of a sudden one of the third-years whammed into him as they whirled away out of control. The force flung Harry from his broom and he began plummeting to the ground before an abrupt jerk slowed his descent slightly.

Apparently, the mad luck that had saved them last Thursday night was still holding and somehow, Harry’s shoelace was caught on the handle of the Comet Two Sixty. It slowed his fall until just a metre up when his lace finally came undone and he regained momentum. He foolishly stuck out his right hand to catch himself as his left went to frantically smash his new glasses against his face. Whatever happened he was not losing those.

The impact sent a sharp jarring pain through his wrist and Harry crumpled with his eyes squeezed tightly shut while he waited for the first wave to pass. After a few moments, Harry hauled himself back upright. Other than an inevitably massive bruise everywhere, his wrist was the only injury. Even his foot that caught on the broom was fine. Cautiously, he wiggled his fingers and winced – well almost doubled over more like – as pain lanced through his wrist again. Still, it was hopefully only sprained. It felt like it was.

It was only then that Harry registered that he had in fact fallen into an extremely large and muddy puddle. He was filthy head to toe, although by some miracle his glasses were still almost sparkling. Rubbing his mouth furiously with his sleeve and spitting just in case, he nearly faceplanted again as his boots were slowly being sucked into the quagmire.  
He waved off Wood – who was running over – with a grimace and grabbed at the still hovering broom with his left hand. Wood turned back to the third-year on the ground a few metres off while Harry wobbled back into the air. It was tricky to stay balanced with his arm held against his chest and the sodden clothes weighing him down but not impossible. The Golden Snitch hadn’t been caught in his accidental time-out and now he was more determined than ever to catch it.

Ten minutes later, as Harry felt his energy really start flagging, he heard Wood yell, “Fred! George! Why don’t you go and liven things up a bit?!”

He groaned at the realisation that now there were three balls to look out for. At least it would be easier to avoid them now he’d finally abandoned shadowing the others. His new tactic was gliding around after all, but going as fast as he could while constantly changing height too. A couple of the others were copying him now and Harry wished it would all be over soon. Sure, he was good at ignoring pain but maybe Quidditch was a bit overkill. Then again mowing the lawn hadn’t been any less difficult than this, that one time.

Three more candidates had fallen – literally – out of the running and another two had just given up by the time Harry eventually saw the Snitch. It was fluttering around gently, ten metres ahead, at first but the moment he accelerated it zipped away. McLaggen and the remaining fourth-year wheeled about in pursuit once they realised why Harry was madly looping around the goalposts at one end of the pitch before speeding back the other way again.

They were soon gaining on him as much as Harry was gaining on the Snitch. A thud and a shocked yelp informed him that one of them had dropped out of the race because of a bludger but that momentary distraction allowed the other to pull up right behind his tail. Luckily, it seemed as if Harry was better at anticipating the Snitch’s movement because he never managed to draw level. Very soon they were heading right towards a centre goalpost but Harry was determined to be as unwavering in his course as the Snitch was. In the final second before a possible concussion, he pulled his broom up to fly vertically parallel to the post and stretched out his injured hand. 

Harry caught the Snitch just as it drew level with the top of the hoop and finally stopped to breathe. Ignoring the agony his closed fist was causing his wrist, he lay flat on the broom and allowed it to drift downwards. McLaggen was lying in a heap at the bottom of the goal. He hadn’t been as quick as Harry.

Oliver Wood greeted Harry with a clap on the shoulder that made him stumble, “That was amazing! You’re a natural. Welcome to the team, mate.”

Then his friends ran up and offered their congratulations (all of them) and admonishments (just Hermione). As he staggered back up the hill, the Clock Tower chimed twelve; the try outs had lasted almost two hours. He couldn’t stop grinning; flying gave him a freedom he’d never imagined was possible. It felt as if he could go anywhere, be anyone, without any strings. He’d finally stopped feeling trapped are equally exhilaratingly, he was wanted on a team! Harry felt hungrier than he had since his first night at Hogwarts and insisted they go straight to lunch. He’d finished an entire plate of Shepard’s Pie and was just polishing off a generous slice of treacle tart when Professor Snape somehow caught his eye.

Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry realised with a horrible sinking sensation that he’d brought Draco’s broom right into the Great Hall, in full view of the majority of the teachers but most importantly McGonagall and Snape. He also realised rather numbly that he was dripping muddy water everywhere although that would probably be less of an issue for the Professors. Filch would be livid though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please review.


	7. The Gryffindor Seeker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! Here's an entire chapter of Harry and Severus interaction to make up the complete lack of it last week. Also, I'm on schedule. :)
> 
> Less good news: In order to be on schedule and because school is a thing, this chapter has had a lot less editing than the rest so far. I'm happier with it than I thought I was but please let me know about any mistakes.

The child was actually eating for once. He was eating, laughing with his friends, caked in mud and… wait what? Severus whipped his head back in an honest to Merlin double-take. Hopefully no one noticed because that was just short of mortifying. But Potter was plastered in muck from head to toe and there was a broomstick propped up against the bench next to him. He was utterly bewildered for several agonizing moments until it clicked – it was the Gryffindor quidditch try outs today – and morphed into disbelief. Surely the boy wasn’t so foolish as to take a broom where every member of the Hogwarts teaching staff would see it? Everyone knew first-years weren’t allowed brooms and more importantly Severus knew for a fact that Potter didn’t own a broom. But the proof couldn’t be clearer if the child drank Veritaserum; he had tried out.

Severus observed for a while longer and as the shock wore off, more odd things became evident. Firstly, and most concerningly, he was injured. Potter was right-handed but he had eaten the entire meal rather awkwardly, using just his left. His right completely lay still on the table with his hand clenched in a fist. Secondly, he and his friends were surrounded by the rest of Gryffindor Quidditch Team. They were all joking loudly with wide grins all around. It was undoubtedly a celebration meaning that somehow the boy – looking more at ease among his peers than he had yet appeared to – had succeeded in becoming their new Seeker. Joining the team was a feat even James Potter hadn’t pulled off until his third year. 

None of the other players were even damp though. A quick glance up at the ceiling confirmed that while the sky was gloomily overcast, yesterday’s torrential downpour had yet to resume. So, the child had likely fallen from the broomstick and that would account for the arm as well, rather than a bludger. And thirdly… no he supposed that was it. Still, he needed to speak to Potter.

Appetite chased off by this latest development, Severus flicked his wand. It was a harmless charm that caused an unsettling prickling on the back of one’s neck. Sure enough, the child soon looked directly up the Hall to him. He raised an eyebrow and watched with amusement as Potter’s eyes widened in realisation before he turned back to stare at the broom in panic. He then looked guiltily at Severus so he jerked his head towards the main entrance and stood up. He shook out his robes so they billowed properly as he prowled between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

By the time he met the boy at the doors his mood was improved from deducting a total of twenty-seven points for general immature behaviour. Severus regarded Potter with – not that he’d admit it – interest, as he stared determinedly at the puddle collecting at their feet. His shoulders were slumped, resigned and he just knew this conversation would create conflict.

“We’re going to my office, Potter.”

“Yes, sir.”

…

The boy perched on the edge of the uncomfortable wooden chair opposite the desk, his feet didn’t even touch the ground. Severus relaxed back into his own high-backed seat which while it appeared equally severe to the students’, was actually imbued with several Cushioning Charms. It was a point of honour? Dignity? Stubbornness?... that he didn’t have a squishy armchair; he wasn’t Pomona (and that was the point of his private quarters after all), nor would he tolerate something more throne-like. He had no desire to indulge in such pretentions as Albus Dumbledore or indeed the Dark Lord. Furniture need only be functional.

Having left the boy stewing in tense silence for longer than intended, he steeled himself and withdrew his wand to set it gently down on his desk in full view of Potter. Then Severus double-checked his Occlumency shields. Judging by the last three weeks, there were more disgusting revelations about to be had.

“With your permission, Mr. Potter, may I clean the mud off and dry your clothes?” 

The child looked shocked, “Yes, Professor.”

After a couple efficient swishes of his wand, Potter still looked thoroughly unkempt but at least not so filthy or sodden. Severus felt relieved himself now that the child was clean enough to not pose a severe contamination risk to his rarer Potions’ ingredients. Although he still eyed his hair critically. A fine film of dirt had crusted itself over the wayward locks, sticking them even more firmly in ridiculous directions. For once, his own hair wasn’t the worst in the room.

“Thanks, sir.”

“Of course, Mr. Potter. But I shall also take the liberty of suggesting that you still have a shower.”

He at least had the decency to look embarrassed and ran an ineffectual hand through the mess which flopped right back over his face again, “Yes, sir.”

Severus considered him once more, searching for a way to stall – though he’d never admit it – the inevitable battle over the boy’s wrist. Unfortunately, that left him with the equally undesirable option of stilted small talk, “I did not think to ask when we were in Hogsmeade, but wouldn’t you like a haircut?”

Potter’s face instantly paled and he scooted his chair back so viciously that it rendered a horrible shriek against the cool dungeon flagstones. Honestly it was a wonder he didn’t tumble onto the floor himself what with the simultaneous whiplash-inducing head shaking that Severus found himself a sudden, startled witness too. He was at a loss as to what he did to cause such a fervent reaction. 

Carefully, he placed his wand on the desk in full view once more, and then leaned back into his chair where he sat very still until the child finally calmed enough to look at him again, albeit like a unicorn in the lamp-light. Severus spoke softly and vehemently hoped that this time it wouldn’t cause unbridled panic; the complete opposite to the usual affect he went for, “Mr. Potter, I apologise for frightening you. It was not my intention,” now he just sounded as if he were under the influence of the Imperius curse, brilliant, “I assure you that whatever consequences you are currently expecting will not occur. You are not in trouble for how you choose to wear your hair nor for your, erm… reaction just now.”

Gradually, Potter’s shoulders slumped and the hunted gleam faded from his eyes. He nodded warily, “I’m still in trouble though, aren’t I?”

Forcing his face not to betray his amusement, he affirmed, “Since you are a first-year in possession of a broomstick, yes you are. However, taking into account that you are obviously not the student who smuggled it in, I believe you will find the consequences quite generous. But we will discuss that further after I have taken a look at your arm.”

The relief on the child’s face – even wary as it was – immediately faded to poorly concealed dismay. Severus, still trying not to push too quickly, cautiously stood and began gathering various supplies from around his office. He brightened a couple of the lamps to keep the gloom at bay and so he could see the injury in question better. Returning to the desk he set everything down and glanced back at Potter who was now making an admirable yet wildly unsuccessful attempt at an expression of innocence and confusion, “My arm, sir?”

He sighed and slowly pushed his chair round to the front of the desk so he wouldn’t tower over the child, “Yes Mr. Potter, I would like to see your right arm.”

“But why? My arm is fine,” he seemed very unhappy about the new seating arrangement.

“Then why don’t you prove that?” Severus asked silkily. He waited and watched Lily’s characteristic show of stubbornness play across his face, “No?”

“This is not a negotiation, Potter,” he struggled not to speak quite so coldly as he did in class. It wouldn’t do to traumatise the child further. Reluctantly, he extended his arm towards Severus from where it had been cradled against his body while turning his face away and down.

He pulled the sleeve of Potter’s hoodie back and examined the wrist. It was swollen and slightly bruised. The slightest pressure appeared to make him wince. An odd fluttering in his periphery brought Severus’ attention to the hand which he now realised had been tightly clenched the entire time. Then a soft whirring hit his ears and a silvery, feathery wing forced its way out between two fingers. So, the child had actually caught a Snitch.

He handed Potter a Pain-reliever Potion, “Fortunately, this is only sprained.”

“Yes, I know,” the boy said tightly.

“Oh?”

“I know what sprains feel like. My ankle, remember?”

“Indeed,” Severus replied with incredible control and calmness, considering the sudden angry indignation pulsing through him. That the boy was well versed enough in pain that he could self-diagnose such an injury… He wearily wondered why he was even surprised anymore.

“That potion should have numbed the area by now. Please release the Snitch, Mr. Potter.”

The boy finally turned back around, albeit with suspicion, seemingly having forgotten his usual aversion and fear to anything that could be construed as disobedience, “Do I have to?”

Severus’ head was beginning to hurt from the number of times he’d had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at this child in the last month, “Yes Potter, you do. Since you recklessly saw fit not to seek medical attention from Madam Pomfrey then you must not obstruct my efforts to correct the consequences of such a lapse in judgement. You can be certain that I shall be speaking to your captain for not assuring the health of his players. But right now, we are healing your wrist and for that you must let go of the Snitch… For Merlin’s sake, I’m not confiscating it, child! What would I want with it? You can have it back when I’m done.”

Potter finally, agonisingly slowly opened his hand and the Snitch instantly started whizzing around above their heads. Severus forcefully stamped down his irritation at momentarily losing his composure as well as the new distracting movement and noise.

“Please, I don’t want Wood to be in trouble,” the child implored, “he didn’t know.”

“Really? You caught the Snitch and fell Merlin knows how far. Do you honestly expect me to believe that he didn’t notice or had no time at the end of try outs?” he failed to contain his derisive snort.

He shrank back, “I fell in the middle of try outs at the same time as someone else. I waved him away to them and started flying again. It took ages until the Snitch appeared.”

Severus all but gaped as he reeled in the disbelief that Potter had fallen, sprained his wrist, started flying again but surely with only one hand and then caught the Snitch. No one in their right mind… “Of all the foolhardy…” he floundered, “You caught a Snitch with a sprained wrist and then just went off to lunch?”

“Yeah, so?”

“But why?”

Potter scoffed, “Why not? It’s not that bad and I really wanted to make the team. Not like I’ve never sprained my wrist before. Really, Madam Pomfrey… this, I don’t need it. I’ve managed without my whole life. And why would I assume an adult would help, when no one’s ever cared before?”

Severus stared at his own hands. Couldn’t the child see that Hogwarts was not his Aunt and Uncle’s house? Surely, after that first night he should know that healing would never be denied to him. How could he not think to ask? There was nothing he was thinking right now that would be helpful to say so he kept his mouth shut and busied himself with the task at hand. Bruise Balm, bandages, ice, a potion to help heal and strengthen the muscle tissue faster. The child stayed silent also and he observed the stiffness gradually melting from his shoulders. If not relaxed, Potter was at least not flinching away at the slightest touch as he healed him.

Once he settled a façade of calmness and indifference within his mind again, he felt it safe to speak, “Mr. Potter, due to your worrying actions today regarding your hair and complete lack of regard for your well-being, I am compelled to ask that you explain these reactions.”

Merlin, the imperiused voice again. As Lily often teased, he sounded like a robot. And he knew it was hardly encouraging to sound so emotionless about such a sensitive matter. Severus bit back a groan, “Please. I know you don’t want to talk about it but at the very least I need to know about the injuries you arrived at Hogwarts with. I was serious about you getting new guardians before. You don’t, shouldn’t have to go without healing now or ever again.”

Potter had pulled his arm back and was hugging himself rounded the middle, leaning forward, shoulders curled. His eyes once more fixated on the floor. Severus hoped fervently that he wouldn’t throw up, neither of them were in a state to deal with that as well. But the child didn’t appear to be having a panic attack so he sat still and waited. Although, his face was pale, his breathing remained even. He waited. 

An eternity later, the child drew in a deep breath and straightened. Potter’s face was tipped up to stare just past Severus’ left ear although his eyes were unfocused. In an equally dull voice he began to speak, “My hair wasn’t always so long but Aunt Petunia always hated how wild it was. She used to shave it all off apart from the fringe to hide my scar. And then it would just grow back overnight. The moment Hagrid left everything got so much worse than ever before. Three days before Hogwarts I got angry and figured that if my hair grows back in my sleep and I could probably will it to grow longer if I wanted it enough. It worked but I didn’t duck the frying pan fast enough. That was the lump you found on my head.”

Severus sat stock still in shock. He absorbed everything and fought to keep his face impassive. The words kept coming.

“The more faded bruises on my face were Dudley and his gang. To get away in one round of ‘Harry-hunting’ I climbed a tree to get over the tall chain metal fence around the park. I sprained my ankle jumping down. The black eye and split lip and bruises on my ribs and the marks on my back were all Uncle Vernon. Dudley just used his fists but Uncle Vernon liked to get in a few kicks or lashes with his belt too. Just for stuff I was always doing wrong, general being an ungrateful burden stuff. You know like not finishing my chores fast enough, doing something freaky, not being quiet enough or my tummy growling…”

He trailed off and Severus desperately sought for something to say or do but there was nothing that could ever make this right. In the end, all he could do was hand Potter a handkerchief for the silently streaming tears and occasional sniff. Clearing his throat roughly, he found that he could express the most inadequate of sentiments, “Thank you for telling me. That was very brave.”

Potter refused to acknowledge him, which for once Severus couldn’t fault him for. That had sounded just as empty as Dumbledore’s apology in the Hospital Wing. Resigned to the reigning silence, he went back to his desk and retrieved a tin of Minerva’s blasted Ginger Newts that she’d forced on him last Christmas. He prised off the lid and set it down next to the boy, another worthless gesture, “Help yourself.”

Then he conjured a sling and sat back down. Potter eyed him suspiciously again even as he nibbled on the head of a biscuit, “I don’t need that.”

“Yes, you do. You’ll heal faster. It’s only necessary for three days,” he folded the fabric methodically, slowly, trying not to rush the boy or frighten him by coming too close to just fasten the sling around his bony shoulders. And also, because Severus could barely keep up with his wild swings between scared and meek to wilful stubbornness.

“But I can’t do stuff with only my left hand.”

“You seemed to manage perfectly fine at lunch and I’m sure Miss Granger would be thrilled to take notes for you.”

“No, I can write with my left hand too. But how will I hide this?” Potter turned his right-hand palm up, so the awful burn scar was on full display. Severus regretted that he was entirely obvious in his haste to avert his eyes to the shadowy recesses of his bookshelves. Of course, this would be the moment the child finally pursued prolonged eye-contact; his stare burning through the curtain of eternally lank hair that had dislodged from his ear.

Severus choked, “You mean to say that you’ve hidden that from your friends for a month?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at keeping it facing down all the time and the sleeves of my robes help a lot. But I can’t do everything with only one hand and they’ll be awful about questions,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry Mr. Potter but this sling is part of the aforementioned non-negotiable healing.”

The boy sighed but didn’t protest further while he cautiously arranged the sling. Severus didn’t acknowledge that his shoulders were up by his ears again or the rigidity of his posture. Potter suddenly seemed especially fragile. He blinked and reminded himself that it wasn’t personal. Then he blinked again at the realisation he wished he could be an exception to that instinct. As soon as the ordeal was through, they both shuffled their chairs away and breathed in relief.

So, they could each have a few more moments to recover their composure, Severus then retrieved the broomstick that had been abandoned; propped against his desk. Although immediately obvious it was better quality than any broom in the school sheds, he was sure this particular model wasn’t top of the line anymore. The polished handle and neat twigs belied its continued good condition though. He briefly wondered where Potter had gotten it from until his fingers brushed across an out of place indentation. Upon turning it over, the engraved initials made everything clear; D.L.B.

Suddenly feeling able to choose his words less carefully, he was about to explain his plan when he spotted Potter side-eyeing him in his periphery again, “I haven’t changed my mind, you’re still not in trouble.”

He leaned back and waited somewhat more impatiently than before until the child eventually relaxed by a fraction, “I believe I am correct in saying that this broomstick is the property of Mr. Malfoy?” – he nodded nervously – “In that case you have neither stolen a school broom nor are in possession of a private one as is prohibited. Furthermore, since there is no rule against first-years actually playing Quidditch, I can see no rules that you have broken. You merely borrowed another student’s illicit item which I also highly doubt was your own idea,” – he ignored the boy’s mouth falling open in protest – “And as Mr. Malfoy’s Head of House I think an appropriate punishment for him will be to confiscate this for the rest of the school year. You may inform him of this arrangement.”

“Yes Professor, thank you,” he nodded fervently although the confused expression was still most prominent.

Severus paused and considered. The child would still need a broom and his current options were unacceptable. Using a school broomstick during a match would result in inevitable disaster or Minerva might suddenly lose all her usual unwavering common sense and indulge in an act of irreversible favouritism. He supposed that Slytherin could use a challenge after so long; seven years without really working for it encouraged complacency and rather made winning the championship less shiny with every season.  
“I am also aware, Mr. Potter, that you need a broomstick for your team practises and the Quidditch matches. If you are agreeable, you will come here at those times to retrieve this broomstick from me to use and then immediately return it afterwards?”

“Really?” Potter’s quivering seemed to finally originate in excitement and even his voice found a few extra decibels.

“I wouldn’t have said so if I wasn’t serious,” Severus said firmly.

The child was so completely astonished that for the first time he appeared not to register the slight rebuke, “Thank you, sir!”

“You’re welcome Mr. Potter. And you are dismissed so long as you take that infernal Snitch with you,” he batted it away from his ear in a most undignified way.

He jumped up and balanced on his toes in the middle of the office for a moment before the Snitch zoomed back across the room. In a single leap, Potter had it clutched tightly in his left hand whereupon the whirring sounded louder and frustrated.

“Oh, and Mr. Potter…” he added as the boy was heaving the door open. When he looked back, Severus cleared his throat, “I want you to know that you can always come to me for help and I will be here for you.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy mumbled before he sped away and the dense oak door slammed shut with a resounding boom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please review.


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